Life as We Know It
by simply woven
Summary: "You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. " ... A series of ficlets exploring the trials, tribulations, and successes of Kerry, Kim, and their children. Now complete. **This is NOT a deathfic**
1. Beginnings

**A/N:** Hi guys! Simplywoven is back from the dead...at least for the time being! This is the first installment in what is eventually going to be a collection of 100 prompted fics. There is more information about the project on my page! Basically, this takes place at the beginning of the plot that will make up all of the installments I write for this story, and it kind of lays out how Kerry and Kim got back together, which is how they'll remain for the other 99 installments. I've only got a few others written, and I'm not sure how frequently this will be updated (what's new, right?), but I'm excited about this little project! Let me know what you think!

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><p><strong>001: Beginnings<strong>

Kerry's pale fingers wove in and out of her lover's soft tresses. The curls were looser than she remembered, and the blonde had allowed them to grow out so they fell to the middle of her pale back. Kerry worked calmly, her hands gentle and her breathing slow.

Kim sighed softly and pushed herself further into the nook that was created by the redhead's body. The scent of lust and love and new beginnings filled the room, and they were coated with a light layer of perspiration that made their skin feel as if it were melded into one, thin suit.

The pair had spent the previous evening renewing their relationship: so much had changed in the past few years, and so much needed to be resolved from the previous life they shared. They began covering the bases of their lives over dinner and dessert, at the restaurant and in bed, but even after that they were only just beginning; there were so many small details and facts and anecdotes that they'd yet to touch on, and so many life events had yet to be covered.

Still, they'd already learned that either person was almost completely different, completely new; they'd each been reborn, in a way. Kim, for instance, had in fact fled to California after the Wallace incident, and she had quickly acquired a position at Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital, which is where she remained for the following six years. Within her first six months in the Golden State, she met Emily.

Emily was an artist, gallery owner, and a free spirit, and the pair had met at a mutual friend's photography show. They toured the gallery together and, by the end of the night, had exchanged numbers. After a couple of dates they were a couple and, four months after they first met, were living together, in typical lesbian fashion.

Kim continued to explain that, three years after first meeting Emily, she gave birth to her now-three year old twins, Eli and Max.

"Wow, two boys?" Kerry had asked as they sipped their glasses of wine back at Kerry's house.

Kim shook her head and explained that Max was short for Maxine, her daughter, and that the three year old was as polar opposite from a boy that a girl could possibly get.

The blonde went on to explain that the couple split up after she found out Emily had been unfaithful throughout their relationship, and that, just weeks before the twins' second birthday, the artist was killed in a car crash while she was on her way home from a gallery opening. The driver who hit her had been under the influence, and their children had been granted a fair sum from the trial, but nothing could fill the void that Max and Eli had been left with.

Kerry nodded in sympathetic understanding and could see tears in Kim's bright eyes as she told the story. She knew, however, that they weren't tears of self-pity; they were tears for her children, tears for their loss, and were tears that Kerry knew and understood on a similar level. Kim's love and adoration for her children was clear to Kerry as they sat together, and she suddenly felt as if she'd never seen a more beautiful woman: the maternal pride and love was the most attractive thing she'd ever seen. The feeling overcame her, and the air became thick. With all reserves down, Kerry found herself pulling the blonde towards her and felt her lips crash against Kim's.

The rest of the evening was a blur, but as they lay in bed the next morning, neither Kim nor Kerry really cared; without the exchange of words they both knew they'd share the beautiful experience again and again and again.

Kim turned around gently, lying so her face was only inches from Kerry's. She placed her hand on top of Kerry's side gently, brushing her knuckles upwards against the smooth skin. "Can I say that I love you?" Kim asked, her voice hardly a whisper.

Pink lips turned upwards into a small smile and Kerry nodded. "Always."


	2. Family

**024: Family**

_2009_

"Momma, look!" Henry's voice draws my attention and I glance down at the floor where he's laying, his many crayons surrounding him. A large piece of white construction paper is laying in front of him with crayon markings and shapes all over it. After a moment of studying it, I can clearly make out five stick figures- two have dresses and large yellow blobs over their heads, two are wearing nothing but brown blobs on their heads, and the fifth has stripes of orange come from its head. All five figures are standing in a row, the ends of their stick arms touching each other, and there's a crudely drawn house in the background. It's beautiful, in a preschooler sort of way.

"See, Momma? It's our family!" The four year old smiles proudly.

I nod, unable to get rid of the smile that's found its way to my mouth. "Do you love our family?" I ask.

Henry nods. "'Cept we're not really a family, right? Not like me and you?" He asks innocently, not a trace of malice in his voice.

I pause momentarily, confused. "Well…well, no. I mean, we're a family, you and I, and Kim, Max, and Eli are a family too. But together, we're one big family." I explain.

My almost-five year old son stares at me silently, and I can see the gears in his head turning. "Are we gonna be a family forever?"

Now it's my turn to remain silent as the gears in my own head turn. The plan, of course, is for Kim and I and our three kids to remain one family for the rest of our days, but as we all know far too well, things like that hardly ever go as planned; Kim didn't plan on having to leave her wife, our children didn't plan on losing their mothers, and I certainly did not plan on losing my wife. I'm afraid to tell my son that we'll be a family forever because I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or next month or in five years, but at the same time I know that, regardless of what life throws at us, there's no way I'd be able to take Henry away from Eli and Max, who have become the two siblings that Henry has never had, even despite the short four or five months they've known each other.

Still unsure of what's going to happen and aware that I'm always going to be unsure of what's going to happen, I answer my son. "Forever and ever." I assure him.


	3. Parents

**027: Parents**

Looking back, I can clearly remember the first time Kim and I were truly faced with a situation that required us to act as a single parental unit. We'd only been living together as a family of five for three or four months, and up until that point the only thing we'd been faced with was a few colds, a few tantrums, and a little bit of discipline.

_2009_

"Eli?" Kim calls out, her voice hardly reaching a yell. He's in the living room watching cartoons while Max is upstairs taking a nap, a fever having taken every ounce of energy she has. Our house has been rampant with infections and ailments of all sorts, and while Max is fighting off the cold that Henry has just shed, Eli has just begun to get over his fifth ear infection in the past calendar year, and what Kim has told me is the tenth or eleventh in his almost four years of life.

After a few minutes, Kim calls out again, this time a little louder.

Again, no response.

Kim's eyes ask a silent question and after a moment we both stand from the kitchen table.

My stomach is in knots as we walk from the kitchen to the living room, and I find myself praying that my maternal and doctoral instincts have failed me.

"Eli?" Kim repeats from where we're standing behind the couch. Her voice is louder than conversational, and she's only a few decibels away from yelling; she's loud enough for me to hear her clearly over the TV.

Once again, Eli does not respond.

I glance at my partner, studying her concerned expression as she stares at the back of her son's head.

"Eli!" She exclaims, now truly yelling at the three year old.

Finally, the brunette notices his mother's voice and looks at her, his eyes showing no sign of being startled by her yelling.

I see Kim force a smile to her mouth and she holds out a hand to him, directing him towards the kitchen. Realizing lunch is ready, Eli smiles and jumps off the couch, trotting towards the table where his grilled cheese is awaiting him.

Kim and I follow a few feet behind him, and I catch her eye out of the corner of my own. I can see deep worry within the blue pools. This isn't the first incident of him not hearing us; we've been concerned with Eli's hearing since the child, who was always the first to respond to our commands, stopped following directions unless they were spoken clearly and directly to his face. Not only that, but he's constantly been asking "what?"

Arriving in the kitchen, we find Eli sitting happily at the table, waiting patiently for his meal. Kim smiles weakly at her son and places the cut up sandwich and cup of milk in front of him. I watch as Eli smiles and thanks his mother, and then I follow Kim as she retreats towards the counter behind him, her eyes staring out the window over the sink.

Gently, I place my hand on the small of her back, hoping to offer whatever support I can.

"I…" she begins to speak, but stops midway and composes herself. After a deep breath, she continues, "I think I'm going to call his doctor tomorrow." She says, her voice defeated and solemn.

I nod in agreement and find her left hand with my right. I give it a gentle squeeze, knowing somewhere inside that this is going to be our first real shared experience as parents, and knowing that, together, we're going to get through it, whatever it is.


	4. Sound

**037: Sound**

"Within a bony labrinthean cave,  
>Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave,<br>This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found,  
>Muse, that presides o'er all the Powers of Sound."<br>- Abraham Coles,  
><em>Man, the Microcosm; and the Cosmos<em>

_2009_

"And the soft, blue part goes into your ear like this…" the audiologist says as he slips the earmold of Eli's first hearing aids into his left, and then into his right ear. "Is that alright?" he asks, looking at the three year old.

Eli's eyebrows are furrowed and his expression tells the audiologist that it certainly is not alright.

"I know they don't feel too good, but you'll get used to them." The young man tells him. "And they'll help you hear lots better." He encourages.

Eli looks to Kim and I for confirmation. Kim nods and I smile.

When the brunette man gets the molds snugly into his ear canals and the hooks positioned correctly behind them, he scoots back and smiles at the toddler. "I'm going to turn them on now, okay?"

Again, Eli looks at his mother and I for approval. We both nod and the audiologist switches the hearing aids on, one right after the other.

The room is silent for a moment, as if the few thousand dollar hearing devices could be tested on that, until Kim speaks up. "How does it feel?" She asks.

Eli's blue eyes instantly widen and he looks at her, stunned. "It's loud." He informs her, his own voice startling him.

I glance at the audiologist, slightly worried. Apparently knowing what's going through my head, he shakes his and speaks. "It's going to be an adjustment, getting used to hearing every little thing, but he'll get used to it. For the first couple weeks just have him wear them when he's comfortable- at home, in small groups- and work up to being able to wear them through an entire day." He assures me with a smile.

I nod and let out a breath, relieved.

After a few more questions and pamphlets and signatures, the three of us head out into cool, damp air of the parking garage, heading off to pick Henry and Maxine up from preschool and playgroup.

"What's that?" Eli asks in alarm when Kim tosses her large key chain in her hand.

Smiling broadly, Kim hands her son the silver key chain. Eli stares it momentarily, then begins to shake it around in his cupped fist, enjoying the different sounds his motions could create. Seemingly satisfied, he hands it back to her as we approach the car.

As we settle ourselves into Kim's SUV, I can't help but think about all the sounds that Eli is hearing for the first time in over six months; with a 60 db, 'severe' loss in his left ear and a 25 db, 'mild' loss in his right, it can be easily assumed that he's missed out on anything and everything quieter than the vacuum cleaner.

"Music, Momma?" He asks from his car seat, a large grin on his face.

Unable to wipe the smile from her own face, Kim nods and presses play on our children's favorite CD. I watch in the rearview mirror as his head of brown curls begins to bounce with the music that is turned up to a very reasonable volume, a volume that, as of an hour ago, he wouldn't have been able to hear.

Though I'd love nothing more than to watch this young boy reacquaint himself with power of sound, I know we have a schedule to keep and I put the Lexus into reverse, heading off to pick up Henry and Max. Aside from the song "Banana Phone" that is currently playing, the car is quiet, and I find my head rampant with thoughts. Eli's deafness didn't really hit either Kim or I until I found Kim cradling her head in her hands the night after we received the results of his audiogram- despite large doses of antibiotics, he had lost a good chunk of his hearing from the multiple times his eardrums had perforated. Though there was nothing anyone could have possibly done to prevent it, Kim had told me she still felt guilty, as if it was her fault. Regardless of my multiple attempts to comfort her or change her mind, she remained down on herself, and internally, I didn't blame her- all parents feel guilty when something happens to their child, whether it's their fault or not. However, it now seems as if something as simple as her son being able to enjoy music again is enough to lift an obvious load from her shoulders.

Reaching across the center console, I take Kim's hand.

"I love you." I say softly.

She smiles. "I love you too."

And from the backseat comes the best sound I've heard in a while: "And I love you both!" Eli exclaims.


	5. Diamond

**048: Diamond**

"Santa isn't going to come unless you're asleep!" Kim says, encouraging Maxine to shut her eyes and get to sleep. The night owl relents with a sigh and lets her head fall against her pink pillow. "I love you." Kim says as she shows the universal sign for her words that has become a common gesture around our home.

"I love you too." Max replies, pushing a similarly shaped hand towards her mother.

"Love you Max." I add.

Maxine smiles. "Love you Mommy Kerry."

With that, Kim and I exit our daughter's bedroom, switching the lights off as we go. With the rounds now finished and the kids tucked in, Kim and I retire to our bedroom. Naturally, I head to our shared dresser, searching for pajamas that I won't be ashamed to be wearing when Kim takes pictures of our Christmas festivities in the morning, as Kim goes towards the bathroom, probably to draw a bath for herself.

Just as my hand finds a pair of flannels, my other hand is caught by Kim's and I find myself being pulled towards our bathroom.

"Kim-" I begin to protest, but lose my words when I see what she has done to the small room: there are lit candles on the counter, causing a warm, flickering glow in the otherwise-dark bathroom, and the Jacuzzi bathtub is filled with bubbly water. It's warm, but not too warm, and I hear faint sounds of Frank Sinatra's Christmas songs in the background.

Turning towards the blonde, I smile. "You're a sneaky girl…" I say, stepping towards her and grabbing the hem of her shirt.

With a mischievous grin, she puts her arms above her head and allows me to pull her shirt off, which creates a domino effect of disrobing. Soon, we're climbing into the bathtub, allowing the hot water to consume us.

"You've got great timing…" I say, leaning my head back so it rests on the edge of the tub. "I could have fallen right asleep, but this is much, much better."

Kim smiles softly before leaning over the edge, grasping for something on the ground.

"What're you looking for?" I ask, unable to see past her body.

"Nothing, nothing…"She shakes her head yet continues to search. Finally, she locates it. "Ah-ha!" She says, sitting upright again with something clasped in her hand.

"Kim…" I warn, "that's not…"

She waves her hand towards me. "Hush, you." She says, opening her hand and revealing a small, velvet box. Grinning, she pushes it towards me. "Happy Early Christmas…"

"Kimberly…" I say, shaking my head. "All of your presents are downstairs."

She remains silent and places the box in my hands. "Just open it."

I sigh but relent, opening the box and peering inside.

I must've gasped, because Kim lets out a small chuckle. "Do you like them?" she asks.

I blink a couple of times then look up, staring her straight in the eye. I nod slowly before looking back down. "They're…they're gorgeous, Kim."

And I certainly am not lying; the box contains two identical silver rings with a small diamond placed in between an amethyst and a garnet, the birthstones of our children. They're not at all flashy, and they don't scream 'wedding ring', but I can see them fitting perfectly on our left ring fingers, a quiet symbol of our love and our family.

Shutting the velvet box and placing it on the floor beside the tub, I take Kim's hand in my own and pull her towards me, wanting to show my love for her in return.

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><p><em>Thanks so much for reading! I'll do my best to continue to update frequently! <em>


	6. Strangers

**025: Strangers**

As I watch Henry, Eli, and Maxine all playing happily in the living room, I find it hard to remember a time when our children were only strangers. Granted it's been quite a while since they were strangers- they've known each other for three years and have been living together for a little over two- but it's still incredible to think that there was a time when Henry didn't even know the children he now considers his brother and sister.

The twins have had such an incredible impact on him. Eli, for instance, has taught him patience and understanding. Of course, he's taught all of us that, but especially Henry; it is sometimes especially difficult for Henry to communicate with him due to Eli's hearing loss, but my seven year old has acquired the patience and understanding necessary to work with him. Maxine, on the other hand, has brought out my son's protective, caring side; he's taken the five year old under his wing, in a sense, and it's clear to see that he's going to be protective of her until she's an adult.

"Which one do you want?" I hear Henry ask, his voice loud and clear. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see Eli pointing a Hot Wheels car near Henry's elbow. He does not vocalize, though, and Henry picks up the desired car. "The yellow one?" He asks. Eli nods, but remains silent. "If you say 'yellow' I'll give it to you…" he bribes innocently.

"Eli, you can do it!" Maxine encourages, smiling genuinely.

Eli grumps for only a second before mimicking Henry's word, sounding it out. Satisfied, Henry hands the toy to his little brother.

"Thank you Henry." Eli says after a moment, his speech almost perfect.

I look once more at my son and daughter, just in time to see proud smiles on their faces . "You're welcome." Henry replies.

I force myself to turn away from them, wanting not to be caught peaking in on their shared moment, but continue to bask in the love the three share for each other; a love that doesn't care about skin color or genetics or blood or hair color; a love that doesn't care that they were once strangers.


	7. Purple

**016: Purple**

I nearly slam my head on the pantry shelf when a shrill scream reaches my ears. The spice I'm looking for is completely forgotten as I practically run towards the back deck, where the noise has come from. I know from the voice's pitch that it's Maxine, and the fact that I left the three kids alone outside is suddenly biting me in the ass.

As I step onto the wooden deck I take a moment to survey the situation and my surroundings: there are a couple small puddles of bright red blood surrounding a sobbing Max, and Eli and Henry are standing off to the side, their eyes wide in shock and fear.

"Mommy, I…." Henry stammers, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

I look at him for only a moment before kneeling down in front of Max, taking a closer look at the large gash that starts at the outside corner of her eyebrow and travels to the middle of her forehead.

"It hurts, Momma…" the preschooler sniffles.

I nod sympathetically and scoop her up into my arms. Bringing her back into the kitchen, I sit her down on the kitchen counter and grab a clean towel from the nearby drawer. I place it under the faucet for a moment then hold it firmly to her head, patiently waiting for the bleeding to slow.

After a moment of soothing the five year old, I turn my attention to the two boys who have followed us inside. I look first at Henry, then Eli, then back to Max. "What happened?" I ask no one in particular.

I can see Max starting to cry again and run my free hand through her hair, directing my attention towards the boys.

Henry sighs and shrugs. "We were just playing…" he says, his eyes trained on the linoleum floor.

"Henry…" I warn.

His army green eyes look up at me, and his eyebrows furrow. "I didn't mean to push her into that table or anything- we were just playing!" He tells me. I believe him; Henry doesn't have a malicious bone, muscle, or tendon in his body.

I piece the story together, picturing my seven year old son accidentally pushing his sister into the mosaic end table that sits in between a pair of wooden chairs on the back deck of our home; the sharp edge has always been a concern, and now I know Kim will understand why I've wanted to get rid of it since the moment she brought it home.

"Do...do, do I need stitchies?" Maxine asks, sniffling and mispronouncing 'stitches'.

I pull the cloth away from her forehead and sigh, nodding. "Or else you'll have a really big scar." I tell her, hoping the idea of a scar is scarier than the idea of stitches.

She begins to frown then stops, as if a thought has crossed her mind. "Does that mean I get a band aid?"

"Yes, probably…" I respond, knowing she'll need a bit more than a band aid until the laceration heals.

"Can it be purple?" she asks, smiling hopefully and wiping her sleeve across her nose.

I pause momentarily, in awe at the resilience of children and the fact that the idea that something as simple as a colored band aid can make everything better.

I smile and nod once again, "It can be purple."


	8. Sunrise

**031: Sunrise**

"I should not be doing this, Kim…" I say, exaggerating a bit and utilizing some of my dramatization skills.

She chuckles from ahead of me, her blonde ponytail swishing over her shoulder as she turns her head to look at me through the dim light. I know she knows I'm being only dramatic; she would never make me do something I couldn't, "we can stop if you want, but we're almost there."

I sigh loudly and shake my head. We're hiking a mountain. Well actually, Kim assures me it's more a hill than anything else, but I don't care; if hiking something requires getting up before sunrise, leaving the kids with a babysitter, and carrying a filled backpack, it's a mountain. End of story.

Now, as we walk the deserted path in the mid-October, early-morning chill, I wonder why I agreed to this. Sure, hiking is generally considered a fun activity, but I don't think the people who decided that ever considered people like me. And by that, I don't mean disabled, or previously-disabled as the case may be, people; I mean people who don't like outdoor activities. I just don't see the joy in it.

I'm snapped out of my stream of negative thoughts when we approach the opening of the path we've been walking for the past eighty or so minutes. The ground beneath our feet has morphed from dirt to stone and ahead of us is a vast horizon. Kim turns around and smiles like a proud child showing off an art project. She holds out her hand and I grasp it in my own, allowing her to direct me around the mountain top.

She first shows me around the perimeter, pointing out to anything and everything in the distance that we can make out in the early morning light. Then she shows me the various pieces of 'art' that other hikers have left...some carvings here, some graffiti there, and a large mound of rocks that she insists are designed in an "unbelievably profound" way. After a few minutes of exploring, she leads me towards one of the larger boulders and extracts a blanket from her bag. Silently, she lays it down and spreads it out to the side of the rock. I didn't even know she had brought a blanket…

"Come here…" she says, crossing her own legs and sitting down.

I oblige and sit down next to her allowing my back to lean against the cold rock. I lean back against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body even through the multiple layers of clothing we're wearing. I don't really know what she's planning and we just sit in silence for a few minutes, staring out into the dawn that is quickly approaching. After a while, she nudges me and I see her lean finger pointing out into the distance. "Get ready…" she mutters.

Suddenly I realize what is she's brought me here to see, and after a moment I can see it: what was once a hazy horizon is beginning to turn an orange-red, and the beginnings of a burning sun are visible through a thin layer of clouds.

All at once I can understand one of the attractions of nature…

"It's beautiful."

I feel Kim's lips on my head.

It really is beautiful.


	9. Breakfast

**056: Breakfast**

I awake Kim's blue eyes staring into my own, a soft smile etched across her face as the warmth of the early morning sun makes her chest and bare shoulders glow. Wordlessly, her soft hands move to my own and she holds them lightly before releasing them, moving towards my body instead.

Delicate fingers dance over my skin and goosebumps form despite the sticky heat of our bedroom. I shiver in anticipation, and her soft lips brush against my cheek, chin, then collar bone as she rolls me onto my back, hovering over me on hands and knees.

She's my predator and I'm her prey, willingly being hunted and captured until she releases me from captivity...

The sun is higher in the sky, now, and we're back on our respective sides of the bed with shirts pulled over our heads. As if on cue, the expected knocking of fists comes from behind the door and Kim calls out softly, granting them entrance into our domain.

I never realized how adorable children were in the morning until Henry was born. Sure, I had babysat friends' children overnight before he'd been brought into my life, but I'd never seen them as especially adorable. Then again, I suppose unabiding love allows you to look past the occasional morning tantrum or horrendous morning breath. Now, I feel as if I have the same type of love for Max and Eli, and this morning proves it: all three of our children have a bad case of morning breath, and Eli has a small, grumpy frown spread across his pink lips, but all is forgotten as they climb onto our bed and position themselves all around us.

Max makes herself a nest on my lap, Eli does the same on Kim's, and Henry is lounging in between our bodies with tired eyes. Kim expertly reaches for the remote to the TV and switches it on, flipping through the channels until she finds the Saturday morning cartoons that would keep our children entertained for hours if we let them.

As we watch, my left hand aimlessly wanders to the knot in Max's blonde hair and, as gently as possible, I detangled it.

She sighs gently, subconsciously, and leans back into my chest, her small, warm body relaxed. Suddenly, I feel unexpected tears' forming in my eyes, for this preschooler and her bottomless supply of love mirrors that of her mother's so immensely it nearly breaks my heart.

In a good way, of course.

Even with blurred vision, my fingers work through the matted mess until it's gone. When it has finally disappeared, I wrap my arms around her small body and pull her closer, placing my lips against her head for a short moment and wordlessly let her know just how much I love her. She probably doesn't realize that that's what I'm telling her, but that doesn't make it any less true.

After an episode of their favorite program, I lift Max off my lap and place her in the spot I was occupying. Grabbing a sweater and sliding my feet into my slippers, I head downstairs to cook my lover and our children breakfast. To cook my family breakfast.

I really do love how that sounds.


	10. School

**088: School**

_[Other character's POV]_

Walking around the class, I observe my students; Katherine and Lily are talking rather than making their cards, but that's to be expected, Ezra and Jackson are finally seated after their dispute over their table's crayon box, and everyone else thankfully seems to be working away on their Mother's Day cards. I continue to walk, passing by a row of focused four and five year olds, peaking over their shoulders and checking out their masterpieces. Towards the end of my rounds I come upon Maxine Legaspi who is leaning over her desk, eyes set on her card as she works in haste.

"How're you doing, Max?" I ask, kneeling down next to her seat.

The blonde smiles, "Good! This is my card…" she says, showing me what she's finished so far: the piece of white construction paper has five stick figures on it, two tall and three little. I know one of the tall ones is her mother, Dr. Legaspi, and I know two of the small ones represent her and her twin brother, Eli, who is in the class next door. The two others, however, represent no one I know.

"Max, who are they?" I ask, pointing to the two unknown figures.

Max smiles. "Momma and Henry."

I frown and point to the other adult. "Then who is this?"

"Mommy." She says, before pointing at the two other small stick figures. "And that's me and Eli."

I nod slowly, wondering what in the world this five year old is talking about. "Who is Henry?" I ask.

"My brother…he's seven." She replies easily.

I nod. "I didn't know you had two brothers…" I admit.

"Henry is my new brother."

I frown again. "Really?"

She nods again, her blonde pigtails bouncing. "He's Momma Kerry's baby and Eli and me are Mommy's babies. But now we're Momma Kerry's babies, too, and Henry is Mommy's baby."

Suddenly understanding, I smile and nod. "Ah, I see…" I reply. "Do you want to write 'Happy Mothers' Day' on it?"

Max nods excitedly in response and, with a smile, I direct her on where to write which letters. After the final 'y' in 'day' is on paper, I put my hand over hers and, together, we add the apostrophe to 'Mothers' just after the 's'.

I smile and pat her on the back. "How's that?" I ask.

"My mommies will love it." She grins back.


	11. Middles

**002: Middles**

I think the hardest thing to do when it comes to Maxine and Eli is staying out of the middle of their arguments when my involvement is not necessary. It's painstaking, I swear. Somehow, by using their identical pairs of bright blue eyes, one of them always manages to pull me into it. Always. And, more times than not, the person whose side I don't take ends up angry at me, rather than the initial opponent.

And here I thought I'd escaped the days of tantrums on Henry's sixth birthday.

"Mommy Kerry!" Eli whines loudly, "Tell Maxie to give 'em back!"

I sigh, not bothering to glance up from over the screen of my laptop. "Can you ask nicely?" I reply.

When I get no response and I don't hear him repose his question to his sister, my stomach lurches and I quickly survey the situation. I'm on my feet and in between the two as soon as I see what Max is clutching in her left hand.

"Give those back to your brother right now." I say sternly.

The blonde raises an eyebrow in challenge but keeps the three thousand dollar hearing aids clutched in her hand.

"Maxine Rowan Legaspi…" I begin slowly, "I will give you to the count of three to give those back to your brother…"

The five year old doesn't even budge.

"1…"

Blue eyes stare at me.

"2…"

I'm about to say '3' when she quickly shoves them into her brother's hand and stomps off. I go after her quickly, but not without telling Eli to put them where they belong; I really wish he'd just turn them off instead of taking them out when he wants to tune his sister out.

I find the preschooler sitting on the ground next to the couch, her legs crossed 'Indian style'. Her facial expression makes it clear that she's upset, and I take a seat on the couch beside her. "Max…" I say quietly. "Do you want to come up here and talk to me?"

I peak over the edge of the sofa in time to see her shake her head.

"So you're going to make me come down there?" I ask.

The blonde nods; I shouldn't have expected anything less.

I lower myself to the ground, wondering who is going to pull me up when we're done with this little conversation; I love my kids, but sometimes I feel as if they're pushing me into an early grave.

Now sitting opposite my daughter, I begin to wheedle my way into her mind. "You know that no one but Momma, Eli, and I touch Eli's hearing aids, right?"

Max nods, her two ponytails bouncing.

"So why did you take them?"

She shrugs, her eyes studying the pattern of her striped tights. "Cause he's a dummy…"

I try not to get angry at her choice of words. "We don't use that word, Max…" I begin, but quickly divert from correcting her. "Why are you mad at him?"

Maxine shrugs again but finds an answer after a few moments. "Why does he get a special chart with stickers?"

Understanding dawns on me.

Ever since we discovered Eli's hearing loss, he's been in intensive speech therapy; though he had a good sense of spoken language before he lost some of his hearing, we knew his progress would slow despite what he was able to hear with his hearing aids. As he's grown older, it's been difficult to get him to work on his speech, and working with him at home has become near impossible. For a while he even began to regress, going back to only utilizing the monosyllabic vocabulary of his days as a toddler. Then, on one completely random night after the kids were asleep, Kim and I came up with the idea of making a chart that closely resembles the ones we both used when potty training our children. However, instead of placing stickers on it whenever someone used their miniature toilet, we place a sticker on it whenever Eli works with us on his speech. Then, every time he reaches ten stickers, he gets to pick a small prize- normally a small toy or a piece of candy. It's the system we've been utilizing for about sixteen months, and it's really paid off: we spend at least 20 minutes a day working with him, and as a result he's been able to keep up with Maxine's vocabulary development almost entirely, despite a slight, lisp-like speech impediment that has developed over the past two or so years.

However, regardless of how well the chart has worked for Eli, Kim and I have always been conscious of the possibility of some sort of rivalry or jealousy developing between him and Max, who probably views it as a situation where her twin not only gets extra attention, but also is rewarded for it. It's understandably hard for the five year old to understand the struggle that speech therapy really is for her brother and, in all honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't acted out over it before.

Sighing, I take her small hand in my own. "You know why Eli has a chart, don't you?" I ask.

The blonde nods slowly. "'Cause he needs help with his words."

I nod, glad to be reminded of the fact that Kim and I have done at least one thing right by assuring she's informed on her twin's deafness. "How do you feel when you see Eli's chart?" I ask.

Her shoulders rise and fall. "I want a chart, too…" she begins, "but I don't need help with my words…"

I remain silent in response as I quickly devise a plan. After a moment, I speak, "Well, what is something that you want to be better at? Or something that you really like and want to do more?"

The five year olds eyebrows raise and I know she's thinking about something. Finally, she raises a single finger towards the ceiling, literally symbolizing a light bulb going off. "I like when you and Momma read to me!" She says.

I smile enthusiastically, "Alright…then how would you like it if Momma or I read to you every night?" I ask.

Maxine's eyes widen excitedly. "Every single night?"

I nod, suddenly thinking of something that will undoubtedly cinch the deal. "And every time we finish a book, we can put a sticker on your chart."

The five year old proves my assumption correct when a huge smile stretches across her face. "My own chart?"

I nod. "Your very own chart."

Suddenly, my daughter is in my lap, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck in a hug. "I love you Mommy!"

I squeeze her back, tell her I love her too, and ask her to go apologize to her brother. She obliges with little resentment and skips off in search of her twin.

As I pull myself off the ground and smooth out the creases in my pants, I can't help but allow myself to smile a little bit- another situation has been successfully diverted and, though I've just made a promise for not only myself but Kim as well that could potentially be time consuming, I'm pretty damn pleased.


	12. Touch

**040: Touch**

_2009_

This has been the longest day ever," I say in exasperation, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and collapsing on the bed next to Kerry. The queen sized mattress bounces slightly as I move, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Kerry wince.

Apparently, it was a longer day for her, and it drives me crazy to know that she probably wouldn't have told me that herself.

I roll onto my side and look at Kerry through the lens of my glasses. Every feature of her face is exhausted and I certainly don't blame her; we were out the door at five this morning and didn't get back home until seven this evening, which isn't totally off base for either of our professions, but the fact that we spent the day completing all of our birthday and Christmas shopping at every single toy and children's clothing store in Chicago has definitely taken it out of us.

Especially Kerry.

Wordlessly, I reach down place my hand on her left hip, watching her face and waiting for a response.

"You don't have to-" she begins to argue, but she's too tired to put up any more than an ounce of a fight.

I smile gently and hush her. "But you want me to, and I want to, so I'm going to."

She nods in relinquishment and gratefulness, and I slowly and softly begin what will end up as a thorough massage of her tense, aching hip.

After a few moments with no sound but our slow breathing filling the room, Kerry speaks, "Oh, Eli's audiologist's office left a message today…" she says softly, "they just wanted to confirm his appointment for Monday."

"Right, we're going after I drop Maxine off." I say, ending the conversation and silencing the room for another few minutes. After a while, however, Kerry speaks up again.

"I'm bringing Henry to Carlos and Emily's house tomorrow afternoon...Carlos asked me if Eli and Max wanted to go, but I wasn't sure if Eli would be up to it-it can get pretty noisy in their house, and…"

"Okay, we'll see how he's feeling in the morning." I say, my tone short; this woman never, ever just relaxes, and I want her to be able to soak up all the TLC I'm able to offer; it's a rarity for us to both be home with all three kids asleep in their respective beds and no beepers going off at the same time, and I'd like to make the best of it.

But no, the damn redhead keeps going.

"You know, maybe it would be best to just go ahead and let him go. I mean, he's not always going to have us-"

"Kerry." I cut her off, ceasing the movement of my hands as I do so. Sea green eyes look at me, caught a bit off guard, but she remains silent. "Can you please just relax and enjoy this?"

She sighs and nods. "Fine…"

I thank her quietly and continue my massage, my hands working cautiously yet determinedly as I work out the muscles surrounding her almost-three year old scar. It's silent in our bedroom, but I can see her facial features relaxing.

After a while, she smiles dreamily. "Thank you…" she murmurs, kissing me softly.

I kiss her back, removing my hand from her hip and instead taking hold of her hand, not wanting to give up the touch of her skin.


	13. Passing

**065: Passing**

"Kerry?" Kim's voice follows the closing of the front door of our home. I'm too exhausted, too emotionally drained to react. Instead, I keep my dry, bloodshot eyes trained on the single bare wall in our bedroom, clutching a soft pillow to my chest.

I listen as she moves around downstairs, and I know she's not too concerned about making an excess amount of noise; Max and Eli are with Kim's parents for the night, and Henry is sleeping over his Uncle Eddie's house. After a few minutes, I hear her soft footfalls on the stairs, and within seconds light from the hallway is leaking in through the crack under the door. Rather than coming into our room, however, a door opens and shuts and I know she's in the upstairs office, probably finishing up some work or checking her email before bed.

I'm glad she isn't in here. I'm glad to be left alone. I don't want to be held or asked what's wrong or pitied; I want to be left alone, and I don't want to think about anything.

I don't want to think about anything, but I can't help it…

Gabe is dead, and I wasn't there to say goodbye.

Over the years I've made only a couple of trips to see him; one the summer before I met Sandy, another after she died, and another before Kim came back. It got hard when he moved to live with his son in Florida, and it became near impossible once Henry was born. It sure didn't help that, once I got there, he didn't even know who I was. Not that it was his fault, but it's difficult to commit to a pricy and time-consuming trip when you know the only thing that's going to be greeting you is a blank stare and, if you're lucky, a faint memory of you being his student back in the eighties.

I've always felt guilty thinking that way, but now more so than ever.

His son, Everett, said that it was a natural death; he had found his father's lifeless body when he went to wake him up. It was no wonder, really: aside from the Alzheimer's, Gabe had been one of the healthiest men I've ever encountered, but there really weren't herds of people who lived past the age of 87, especially when they didn't have the will for it. Gabe had lost that will sometime between my first and second visit.

The light leaking in from the hallway has gone out, and I suppose I've missed the sound of the office door opening. Expectedly, our bedroom door creaks open audibly, but with my back to it, I know Kim thinks I'm sleeping. She goes into our bathroom and silently readies for bed.

Gabe would have loved Kim; her wit would have amused him, her knowledge would have enticed him, and her looks would have sealed the deal. Then again, I can't be feeling bad or guilty about them never meeting; by the time Kim was back in the picture, Gabe was too far gone, just as he was too far gone to understand who Henry was when I brought him as an infant.

I would have given almost anything for my son to meet Gabe, the man from whom he received his middle name and the man who taught me some of the important life lessons I will one day be teaching him. He meant so much to me, acting as a father after the passing of my own…it may be unrealistic, but just imagining my son in the arms of my mentor warms my heart. The vision is almost as beautiful as the one of Henry in my own mother and father's arms…

The bathroom door opens and she slips into bed. The warmth of her body radiates towards me, and contrary to my earlier feelings, all I want now is to curl into her side and feel protected. Letting go of any traces of dignity, I roll over and find her eyes with my own.

"Kerry?" She asks, worried.

"Gabe." I say simply, my voice breaking. The lone word is enough for her to understand why I'm upset and she pulls me into her arms, allowing my silent sobs to shake both of our bodies.

We fall asleep like this, and in the morning I buy a single plane ticket to Florida; Kim offered to come with me, but we both know how unrealistic that is with three children at home.

Three days later I sit in first class on a flight to Miami next to a young man who types away on his Macbook until we land in the Sunshine State.

Through the entire flight, hot tears threaten to push through my eyes, and during the funeral later that afternoon, they succeed.

I fly back the next morning after getting drunk in the hotel bar the night before, and, my eyes still bloodshot from having a hangover and from crying, I arrive home that afternoon as if I had simply pulled a double in the ER and then had gone to work in the office.

The kids don't quite understand why I'm upset, and I do my best to keep them from seeing me upset, but they're perceptive and I'm losing the ability to hide my emotions as the amount of hours I've gone without sleep grows.

I begin to explain to Maxine why it is I'm upset after she cornered me in the living room, but I find myself choking on my words and having to excuse myself to the kitchen. As I gain control of my tears, I overhear Kim talking to the preschooler:

"Momma's friend passed away…he was very close to her." She says solemnly.

"What's that mean? What did he pass?" Max asks, confused.

"No, no…passed away means he died. Momma's friend died." Kim explains.

"Oh…" Max's voice is smaller, now, and barely audible, "So is he in heaven with Mommy?"

Kim is quiet for a moment. "Yeah, that's exactly where he is…" she says, trying to add some cheer to her voice.

"Will Mommy Kerry be sad for a long time?" Max questions.

"No, sweetie…she just loved her friend very much, so she's very sad right now. She'll feel better soon…but for now we just need to put our biggest smiles on, alright?" My partner responds encouragingly.

Kim summed it up beautifully and in a way that makes not only our daughter understand it, but that gives me a new perspective as well; it seems as if, in the mix of the emotional roller coaster of the past few days, I've forgotten the fundamentals of life and death: I've overlooked my faith in Heaven and after-life and God, having traded it in for self-pity the moment I heard Everett's voice when I picked up the phone.

My shoulders feel looser and my heart lighter as something connects in my head: Yes, Gabe has passed away, but that doesn't mean he's gone.

Not really, at least.


	14. Sight

**040: Sight**

"Mommy? What's this say?" Eli asks, pushing the backside of a book towards my face. I move my eyes away from the bright screen of my laptop, blinking a few times, then take the book in my hands. The black words are blurry at first, presumably due to the difference between the brightness of the computer screen and the flat color of the cardboard book, but after a moment of focusing my eyes, they're clear enough to read.

" Oh, it just says 'Harper Collins Publishers'" I say, handing it back to him, "It's the name of the company that made the book."

My son nods and brings the book back to the beanbag he was sitting on in the corner of our living room.

I go back to my laptop but not without catching Kerry's narrowed eyes.

"What?"

She stares at me incredulously, "Do you have a headache?"

My initial reaction is to deny it, but now that she mentions it…how did she know that? "I think I've spent too much time on the computer." I say, saving the document I've been working on for the better part of the afternoon and shutting down my MacBook.

She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Or maybe you need to get your eyes checked." She says matter-of-factly.

I narrow my own eyes and place my computer on the ground between the end table and couch, a place I know that will keep it safe from sticky hands, grape juice, and crayons. "If you are implying that I am getting old, Ms. Weaver," I say playfully as I shift onto my knees so that I'm kneeling in front of her, my face even with her own, "I would like to remind you that you still have eight years on me." I say, kissing her quickly.

"Charming, Legaspi, but you still need to get your eyes checked." She says as I lean back onto my haunches, still on the couch.

I roll said eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…I'll set up an appointment."

She stares at me doubtfully.

"I will!" I say, smiling and laughing loudly.

In the corner of the room, Eli looks up at us, confused.

I smile at him. "Can you believe Momma thinks I'm old?" I ask.

Kerry scoffs and our son giggles before nodding, "Yeah…you are old!"

I pretend to be hurt, opening my mouth wide in shock and putting my hand over my chest.

Easily convinced, Eli's face falls. "I'm sorry Mommy. You're not old."

I smile at his sweetness, "I think a hug will make it all better…" I say, climbing off the couch and standing up with my arms open.

As loving and enthusiastic as ever, Eli puts down his book, climbs off his beanbag chair, and runs straight for me.

"I love you!" He says, squeezing my waist.

I bend down and kiss his head.

"At least someone doesn't care if I can't see…" I mutter, looking at Kerry with a raised eyebrow.

She only rolls her eyes and smiles.


	15. Teammates

**026: Teammates**

I lean up against the hood of the car, my arms wrapped tightly around myself in attempt to contain some body heat; winter may have ended, but that doesn't mean it's suddenly summer. Especially not when it's 8 o'clock in the morning and extremely overcast.

My eyes are trained on the baseball field and I watch as the largest boy on Henry's team, a boy named Jonathon, steps up to bat. Despite his powerful swing, he has horrible hand-eye coordination which leads him two three consecutive strikes. Next up is Henry, whose coach gives him a quick pat on the head before he steps onto the field.

"Which one's yours?" a fellow baseball-parent says.

Glancing over, I find a tall, tanned man. He has a Boston Red Sox cap on his head, a fleece zipped up to the base of his neck, and is wearing a pair of freshly pressed jeans. I've seen him before, but we've never talked.

"The one who's batting now;" I say, "Henry."

On cue, my son hits the very first pitch and begins to dart around the bases.

"He's a natural…" the man says genuinely.

"Thanks, but he definitely didn't get it from me." I joke in more ways than one.

He smiles and holds out his hand. "Eric Coleman- Logan's dad."

I grasp his hand, a little surprised by his firm grasp and strong shake. I match it with a powerful grip of my own. "Kerry Weaver."

He nods, looking back at the field, then does a double take and stares at me for a long moment. "From County General?"

I groan inwardly; can't I just leave work at work? "That'd be me." I say lightly, trying not to sound like a complete bitch.

His eyes go wide for a second before he starts speaking quickly. "Oh my…I thought I recognized you from somewhere. My daughter, she was….you were…" He shakes his head and takes a calming breath. "About five years ago, Logan's sister, Bailey, her heart stopped- she had Fallot's Tetralogy- and she just—she went into cardiac arrest at school. They brought her here, and she wasn't breathing, and you were her doctor." I see his hand shaking as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "You and that other redheaded doctor, the man-you saved her. And then you made sure she got on the transplant list. You wouldn't take no for answer from the cardiologist." He shakes his head, smiling. "And now she's the happiest, most active eleven year old I've ever seen."

I can only stare at him in awe; I don't remember ever having experienced this much gratitude after so much time. However, if I'm going to be honest with myself, I don't exactly remember treating the then-six year old girl, either. I feel slightly guilty about this initially, before realizing that it doesn't have to matter; all that matters is that my son's teammate's sister received the best medical care possible and that she is now a happy and healthy preteen.

"Thank you…thank you so much." He says.

I nod and smile. "Thank you."


	16. Dinner

**058: Dinner**

_Spring, 2011_

I check my watch as I power walk down the busy sidewalk; I was supposed to meet Kerry for dinner in downtown Chicago twenty seven minutes ago. I would text her, but my iPhone is dead after having to use it all day due to the on-and-off power outages County was experiencing. The outages that are, ultimately, the reason I'm so late.

But now I'm approaching the front door of the restaurant, smoothing out my pants and running a hand to settle my hair.

I'm brought to Kerry quickly once I enter the bistro, and my partner rises and welcomes me with a quick kiss.

"I'm sorry I'm so late…" I begin to apologize after ordering a glass of whatever Kerry is drinking.

"I've been calling you for a while…I was starting to get worried." She says before she takes a sip of her red wine.

I wince. "I'm sorry…my phone died. What was with the power? I thought all of the generators were repaired…"

She nods. "They were, but god knows how long that lasts…" she says, a trace of stress audible in her voice.

I do not envy her job. At all.

"How was your meeting with Banfield?" I ask, curious as to whether or not there was another clash of the titans.

Kerry responds in a monotone voice without looking up from her menu. "That woman has to be the most infuriating person I've ever had to work with…" she says, then glances up at me, her face softening. "But I don't want to talk about her. Or work. Or anything besides you and I."

I watch her for a second, unsure of what she's getting at. "Alright…" I say, matching her smile with one of my own

"Good." She smiles. "So how are you?"

Our food comes just as I begin talking, and at first, I struggle to not talk about work or the kids, the two things that seem to control my life the most. It takes some initial effort, but after a few minutes I find myself telling her about how I've been contemplating getting back to actively training to begin racing again. I've been running for years- I ran track and cross country year round from middle school until college- and I've wanted to get back to it for a while, and now that the kids are getting older, I think it's a perfect time to start. Somehow, from there, I get on the subject of my dad, the man I've not seen since the twins were newborns, and then I've somehow rounded back to our kids, specifically Eli.

"And you know," I say, pausing to take a sip of water, "sometimes I wonder if we do enough for him. I want to give him everything in the world he may need, even if that means a little bit of extra attention and hand-holding, but I know, at the same time, treating him as if he's disabled is going to make him think he's disabled…" I say, momentarily wishing I'd chosen a different word for 'disabled' but knowing Kerry doesn't care. I take another sip of water and continue: "Because he's not disabled: he's different, not disabled, but I feel like that's a fine line when you're only a kid." I say.

Kerry nods, placing her cup of coffee back on the table and clasping her hands in front of her. "I think that's the eternal battle with having a special needs child…especially when that need is so minor in some aspects and so major in others…" she replies thoughtfully. "But for now, I think the best that can be done is continued support for him when he needs it, and the freedom to let him figure things out for himself when he doesn't."

I must've frowned, because Kerry continues, reaching her hand across the table and putting it over my own in an effort to comfort me.

"It's the only way he'll be able to develop his view of himself…" she says, "It seems like a big job for a preschooler, but with guidance he'll do ok."

I smile and flip my hand over, threading my fingers through hers. "I thought I was the psychiatrist?" I tease.

She smiles and pats my hand, then grabs the bill that the waitress dropped off a few minutes ago. She pays for us quickly and soon we're heading out into the darkening city. She takes a right to eventually bring us out towards County, where her car, the one we took to work, is parked, but doesn't say anything as we navigate the sidewalk that is filled with other people who are just getting off work for the weekend.

After a while of wordless walking, we're approaching the waterfront and a cool breeze is making me wish I was wearing something besides a sleeveless blouse underneath my thin blazer.

The only thing I worry about more than my dropping core temperature is why Kerry isn't talking; is she suddenly angry? Have I upset her without realizing it? And, as we take a left instead of the final right that would bring us to County's parking garage, I find myself wondering where she's bringing us.

"Ker…" I begin, "Where are we going?"

She points to the empty bench overlooking the lake. "Let's sit for a while…" she suggests.

I try not to furrow my eyebrows in confusion; why is she being so vague?

"We need to talk." She says plainly as we sit down.

My stomach drops to the ground. 'We need to talk'. No one likes those words.

"Okay…" I respond quietly. "Is everything all right?"

She looks at me with a partial smile, one that looks almost solemn, and takes both of my hands in her own. "I…I don't feel like our relationship is…is going anywhere." She says, obviously upset.

I lose all ability to form words for a moment as I comprehend what she's saying. "Okay…" I say.

She nods. "We've been together for nearly three years, we've been living together for a little over two…yet I feel like something is just holding us back; something is keeping us from achieving what a couple should share." She says sadly.

My heart pounds and my face burns. I feel nauseous and tears are forming in my eyes. My hands are sweating uncontrollably and my body feels heavy and stiff. "I see…" I say, knowing what's coming next; she wants the twins and I to move out, she wants me to leave County, she never wants to see me again.

She looks into my eyes, her head tilted to the side. "Do you?" She asks quietly.

I nod quickly but don't trust myself to form words without bursting into loud, obnoxious sobs.

She shakes her head, extracting one of her hands from mine. "No…I don't think you do…" she says, using her free hand to reach into her purse.

What the hell is she looking for? A checklist of all the things that are wrong with our relationship? I think to myself, my sadness turning to anger.

"Kerry stop…" my voice quivers.

"No, Kim…" she says, before finally finding whatever it is she was searching for.

In a blink of an eye Kerry's kneeling in front of me, staring up at me with a mischievous smile. I stare back without an idea as to why she's down there before looking at what she holds in her hand.

This time, I do let out a sob, not caring how loud or obnoxious it is.

"Kim," she begins, smiling, "you're the woman who brought out the person in me who was trapped for years, the one who has given me all of the love that I could never have imagined, the woman who titled the new chapter of my life. We've been together for nearly three years, and we've been living together for over two, yet I feel like something is missing, something that other couples share. I know that we already consider each other as our life partner, our soul mate, our wife, but I was- I want to ask you to make that valid in the sight of the law by- by marrying me." Tears pooling in her own eyes and her voice is breaking. "Kimberly Rowan Legaspi," she says as she opens the velvet box she holds in her hand, "will you marry me?"

I nod frantically as tears roll down my cheeks. "Yes…yes. Always yes."

* * *

><p>"You know…" I say as we drive home, "That was really horrible of you."<p>

Kerry smiles without taking her eyes off the road. "I know it was, but I wanted to surprise you; to make it memorable."

I trace my finger gently up and down the top of her thigh. "Well you certainly did a good job. And you're not a bad actress, either."

My fiancé chuckles, "Thank you very much." She responds, taking a left and broaching another topic. "So, when are we going to do this?"

I try to answer, "Uh, well…soon?" I laugh, "Shouldn't _you_ know this?"

Kerry laughs. "Well we can figure it out together. But I do want to do it soon…"

I nod, unable to stop smiling. "This summer?"

"Yes. That sounds good." She glances are me quickly and puts her free hand on mine on top of her thigh, "So good."

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it softly.

It sounds amazing.

* * *

><p><em>Written in lieu of the recent law that legalized same-sex unions in Illinois. <em>


	17. White

**019: White**

_Summer, 2011_

"I don't know the last time I was this nervous…" I tell Abby, looking at the brunette who is standing behind me through the mirror.

She smiles a reassuring smile that I've seen multiple times before. "About five years ago, maybe?" She suggests rhetorically. "But it doesn't matter- you've done it before."

I look at her with one raised eyebrow.

She chuckles. "I'm just saying that you know what to do" she shrugs, "and stuff."

I give her a half-smile and finally manage to close the dainty lobster clasp of my necklace. I rise from the chair that I occupied while I did my hair and makeup and turn around, scanning the room for the coat hanger that is holding my dress. I stare at the garment bag for a moment, thinking, before Abby clearing her throat with a little cough gets my attention. I turn towards her but my eyes catch something else, first: Kim is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed comfortably in front of her and a smile on her glowing face.

My stomach immediately settled, I smile back, nodding for her to come in.

"You look beautiful…" she says quietly, smiling broadly.

I smirk and shake my head in objection; she looks far more beautiful than any other creature I've ever seen.

Abby clears her throat again but, this time, it's only background noise; I keep my eyes trained on my beautiful fiancé.

"I'm just going to…" she stands up and heads for the door, "go find Luka and Joe and…yeah."

I see Abby awkwardly exit the guest bedroom out of the corner of my eye but have all of my attention focused on Kim. Her naturally curly hair falls to a spot just below her shoulder, and the top couple layers are pulled and clipped in the back of her head. Her eyes are as piercing as ever, her carefully done makeup bringing out every shade of blue imaginable. She's wearing a button down blouse and jeans but has her own garment bag in between her arms and stomach.

"I thought we could change together…" she says, laying it on the bed and gently closing the door.

I raise an eyebrow playfully.

"Not like that, Weaver…" she says, shaking her head and laughing.

I grin and grab my garment bag, unzipping it to reveal the silky, pale sage dress and matching cropped jacket that Kim and I had picked out weeks earlier. I consciously decided not to pick a long, white, traditional wedding gown; while I want to look special, I want the main focus to be on Kim, who will be walking down the aisle as a bride for the first time in her life. I've done it before, as Abby pointed out, and I want this to be special for Kim. Besides, long, extravagant gowns aren't really my style. At all.

Kim must've caught me staring at my dress, because she speaks up, "You still like it, right?" She asks, a slight tone of worry in her voice.

I nod. "But I like yours better." I say, moving towards her, "Specifically on you."

She laughs and unzips her bag, pulling out her long gown in the process; the silk gown is long and slender, quite like she is, and looks almost as good off as it does on. She begins to unbutton her blouse and I begin to undress, as well.

"Who is with the kids?" I ask, pulling my shirt over my head. This morning I was told not to worry about the whereabouts of our three children, but I can't help wondering if all hell is breaking loose elsewhere in the house.

"Rachel's doing all of the girls' hair with Emma," She says, speaking of her sister and eldest niece as she takes her unbuttoned shirt off to reveal her nude colored bra, "and the boys are with Jack."

I nod and continue undressing.

Soon, and after little additional conversation, we both have our dresses and shoes on and are walking down the stairs of Kim's mother and step-father's house. I stay a few steps behind Kim, watching her slender body move gracefully under her thin dress. We go down to the first floor and head for the kitchen, where we find a few family members as well as Abby and Kim's best friend, Lori.

"Alright, alright…" Kim calls out over the noise, "You can all go take your seats…we've only got a couple of minutes." She orders.

I flash her a quick smile before grabbing Eli's shoulder and calling after our other two children as they begin to file out with the rest of their cousins. "You are coming with me," I say to Henry.

"And you two are staying with me." Kim tells the twins.

They nod, seeming to remember how we practiced this exact routine last night.

"Momma?" Max says, swishing her swishing the full skirt of her white flower girl dress back and forth. Looking down, I notice that the sage colored ribbon tied around her waist has come loose. I kneel down carefully, retying it as she continues to talk. "You and Mommy look so pretty." She says.

I finish the bow and grasp her face gently with my hands, placing a big kiss on her forehead. "And you, my dear, look like a princess."

She giggles and swishes her dress again.

I straighten back up and turn to Henry, holding out my hand. "Ready?"

He nods and takes my hand. "Ready Freddy!"

As we had for the door, I steal one last look at Kim over my shoulder. She sees me looking and shows me her hand, with her thumb, index, and pinky fingers all extended.

"I love you, too." I mouth.

* * *

><p><em>Please review! <em>


	18. Drink

**060: Drink**

_Summer, 2011_

I don't remember the last time I saw Kerry this happy. Actually, I don't know if I've ever seen Kerry this happy.

She's sitting at the table in the front, the one reserved for she, Kim, and the kids, and I see her bent over Henry with a broad, genuine smile on her face. He's either just told her something extremely cute or extremely funny. Actually, knowing Henry, I can assume that it may have very well been both extremely cute and funny.

Scratch that earlier statement; I've seen Kerry this happy once and only once: when Henry was born.

The wedding went well. It was traditional by no means, but this family isn't traditional, so I guess it doesn't much matter. It was actually pretty cute, how they incorporated the kids and all: Henry and Kerry waiting at the altar while Kim, Maxine, and Eli walked down together very literally showed the joining of their families, representing what I believe is a big part of this marriage. It was short and sweet, too, with both Kim and Kerry reciting a few, genuinely heartfelt vows before they exchanged rings and kissed. It was perfect for them, I think; very true to their personalities.

After the ceremony, which was held in one section of Kim's mother's enormous backyard, the fifty or so wedding guests all headed for the other section, where the large wedding tent is set up. It's beautifully decorated, with strings of lights hanging from the ceiling which reflect off of the simplistic table settings.

Now, I sit at a table with my husband, son, a now-married Tony Gates and Sam Taggart, Archie Morris and his wife, Claudia, and their four year old daughter, Mia. It's not a bad group, and I'm glad that Mia is only a year younger than Joe so they can keep themselves at least a little entertained, but a part of me wishes that Cate Banfield had been invited; I've heard horror stories about her, and though Kerry doesn't like her, I'd love to have a chance to meet her for myself.

After a few minutes of listening to a conversation between Tony and Luka, a pair of waiters come by and drop off our meals, and about forty five minutes after that, I hear the distinctive clanging of a fork against glass.

Turning to where the sound came from, I locate who I recognize to be Kim's older brother, Jack. He's standing up, his navy blue sport coat now buttoned, with a microphone in his hand. He glances around the tent, waiting for silence to fall, before turning towards the front table and looking at the newlyweds, specifically his little sister.

I can already tell this one is going to be an emotional one.

"Well, Kim, you did it." he begins with a broad smile. "You've found- or refound, as the case may be- the woman of your dreams. I know it's been a long time coming, and you've dealt with your fair share of hardships along the way, but I think everyone can agree that you deserve all the happiness and love that this woman, your beautiful wife and my sister-in-law, showers you with. As your older brother, I can truthfully say that I have seen you at your lowest, but now that I've witnessed the bond that you and Kerry share and the graceful way you've raised your children together, I can honestly say that I've seen you at your very, very best. She brings out every positive feature in you, and that is something that is both hard to come by and impossible to replace." He pauses before turning his head ever so slightly and addressing Kerry, "And Kerry, I know I speak for my entire family when I say that you and Henry are more than a welcomed addition. For three years, now, you have been a valued part of all of our lives, and I've witnessed you make nothing but a positive influence on everyone. Your son has become a very close friend of my own children, and you have become a very close friend to both my wife and I, and my sister and brother as well. I truly cannot imagine anyone better to be a part of this family, and I am thankful each and every day that both you and Henry have been able to do just that." He pauses again, this time reaching down for his champagne glass.

I pick up my glass of water.

"So here's to you, Kim and Kerry- may you continue to bring out only the best in each other as you move through this life as one." He calls out, raising his glass towards the newlyweds.

There's an echo of glasses clinking and 'here heres' and 'cheers' as everyone toasts.

I empty my glass and see both Kim and Kerry wipe their eyes.

Next up was Kim's mother, who told a heartfelt story of how, as a mother of a teenage lesbian, she had often feared Kim would never find happiness, yet had found herself proven happily wrong the moment she saw the pair together. After that, once everyone had composed themselves and dried their tears, a brunette woman in a peach colored dress stood and began her own toast.

"I know many of you know me, but for those of you who do not, I'm Kim's best childhood friend, Lori. I originally planned to bore you with the story of how Kim and I were neighbors for years, in the same classroom all through elementary school, and ran track together all through high school and tell her just how happy I am for she and Kerry, but I think it's more interesting to tell the story of how Kerry and I met…" she says, grinning mischievously at the now-blushing red head, who received a gentle elbow in the side from Kim, "It was way back in 2001, just after the rough end to Kerry and Kim's relationship. Well their first relationship, and if you don't know that story…well, just go along with it, because it's really not a fun one to tell. Believe me."

There was a wave of quiet laughter before Lori continued.

"So they'd just broken it off and Kim was a wreck. And those of you who know Kim well, know that Kim is rarely a wreck. So she called me looking for some advice, some solace, some comfort, and after a hour long phone call, I knew I'd better check for flights from Boston to Chicago. Long story short, I ended up spending the weekend on her couch, just giving her whatever support I could offer. On the next Monday morning, I was going to go out for a run while Kim got ready for work. When I went to open the front door, I found myself face to face with who I quickly realized was Kerry. She was flustered and pale- while the latter is relatively normal," the brunette grinned teasingly, "those of you know Kerry well know that she is rarely flustered. Anyway, in that moment, when I saw the pain on Kerry's face and the sadness in her eyes, I knew that she wasn't any old girl that had gone and broken Kim's heart; I knew that she was something special, and that what they had was something special, and something that was going to be impossible to replace."

Again, I see both Kerry and Kim wiping the underside of their eyes with their index fingers.

"However, I knew there was no convincing Kim of that; she's a stubborn woman, and I knew her threshold of emotional pain had been long since passed. So instead, I sat by as she was forced to rebuild her life. Some good came out of that time," she looks pointedly at Eli, who has his eyes trained on Lori in an obvious attempt to read her lips, and then Maxine, whose head is resting against Kerry's shoulder, "and some bad came out of that time, but the light at the end of the tunnel was when you found each other once more." She pauses to pick up her glass. "So here's a toast to you and your beautiful family. I'm so glad you've found each other, and I'm even happier that, in doing that, you've found happiness."

A wave of cheers and glasses clanking follows, and I can't help but feel my heart start to beat faster; I'm supposed to make my own speech, now. I'm really not prepared for this. I mean, I've written it and recited it to myself over and over to the point of memorization, but I'm still not ready for this.

I see Kim's brother looking at me, raising his eyebrow slightly and nodding slightly to let me know it's my turn.

Goddamn.

Okay, deep breath.

"Uh, hi…" I begin slowly, glancing around the room. "I'm Abby- Abby Lockhart. I've known Kerry for a long time…about twelve years, actually, which makes me feel ridiculously old..." I find myself getting off topic and quickly redirect myself, taking a calming breath. "Anyway, Kerry was my boss for a long time, which naturally meant I had a…a preconceived idea of who she was. She leads with an iron fist, and a lot of the time I, along with many of my coworkers, mistook that as a personality flaw. However, after a couple years, I realized that it wasn't a flaw at all. That's when my opinion, my view of her, changed. At first, I just had more respect for her as my boss. But with that, I began to recognize the struggles she faced, both in and out of work. I mean, not many people find themselves in a situation where they're having to deal with being outed in front of their staff, dealing with an unruly, bigoted boss, and running an underfunded emergency room. Seeing her in that light gave me a newfound respect for her as a person, which is an identity that I know is hard to see in an authority figure."

I pause momentarily.

"Then I guess we became friends…" I say, smiling at Kerry, who smiles back and nods, "because before I knew it, I was laughing at your jokes, consoling you, going out for drinks with you, signing papers that made me your son's legal guardian in case something were to happen when you had surgery, and you were saving my, Luka's, and, indirectly, Joe's, life." I ramble, realizing that I'm now talking directly to Kerry. "And…yeah. I guess what I'm saying is that you, of all people, deserve to have this happiness and this joy, and as your friend, I'm just really happy for you." I finish, awkwardly looking for a glass to toast with before remembering mine is empty. I glance back up at the other guests, most of whom are watching me, waiting for the cue to toast. "Go ahead and toast- I don't have a glass."

A few people chuckle, mostly those who are sitting at either the front table or my own, but everyone raises their glasses for one last toast.

I take my seat, but now without catching Kerry's eye once more. She smiles and mouths something I make out to be 'thank you'. I nod and smile back.

"Nice speech, Abby…that take you long?" Morris asks, his voice thick with both sarcasm and good-natured humor.

I make a face at him and suddenly feel like I'm back to being a resident under his 'supervision.'

Luka takes my hand and leans into me, his mouth near my ear. "I think it was perfect…" he says softly before leaving a kiss on my cheek.

I squeeze his hand and smile back gratefully.

I thought it was pretty perfect, too.


	19. Days

**007: Days**

_August, 2011_

Day 1: Departure

I wince as my suitcase falls over, the hard plastic parts hitting the hardwood floors and causing a sharp noise to pierce the early morning silence. I swear under my breath and slowly pick it up.

"You do know none of them will wake up, right?" Kim chuckles, walking into our bedroom. "They're too exhausted from trying to wean every last moment out of us last night."

I sigh but smile; she's got a good point.

"Well that, and the two who would hear us are the heaviest sleepers imaginable." She adds.

I nod. "Touché."

She moves towards the dressers and picks up an envelope which she tucks into her back pocket. She then grabs the handle of her own suitcase and readies to exit our bedroom. "You ready?"

I nod, grab my own suitcase, and head out the door behind her. We make quick work of the stairs, bring our bags to the car, then reenter our home and head for the kitchen. I smile when I see that Kim remembered to set the timer on the coffee maker before she came to bed last night. I pour two travel mugs, adding a hearty amount of cream to one and a large scoop of sweetener to the other. I hand the latter to my wife.

"Your mom and Bill know that we need to leave by five, right?" I say, checking the clock over the stove. It reads 4:30 a.m., meaning we have a half hour, but we've still got to go over a few things before we leave.

Kim nods just as headlights shine through the front windows. "I guess so."

We both head for the door, welcoming Kim's mother and step-father through the threshold. They each have a gym bag slung over their shoulder and deposit them at the base of the stairs.

"Are you two excited?" Nancy asks quietly as she gives both Kim and I hugs.

We both nod. "It'll be a nice break." Kim replies. She begins to lead them into the kitchen and I point towards the stairs. "I'm just going to go say good bye. Well…not wake them up, but…" I mutter. My wife smiles and nods, continuing to talk to her parents.

As I head towards our children's bedrooms I can't help but get an uneasy feeling in my stomach; the longest I've been away from any of our children has been four days, and that was when Sandy's parents took Henry to Orlando for Thanksgiving when he was a toddler. This time, however, I'm not only going to be without one child but three, and not for four days but eight. Eight.

I shake my head; I told myself I wouldn't think these thoughts until I was at least out of the general Illinois area.

Quietly, I peak into Max's room, then Eli's room, then Henry's room, wishing them all a silent goodbye. We did our actual goodbyes last night on purpose; we wanted to get any possible tears done and over with rather than have them possibly impede with us getting to the airport on time this morning. Surprisingly, however, only two people shed tears. Thankfully, Kim and I were able to wait for the kids to fall asleep until we did so.

Back downstairs, we say our goodbyes to Kim's parents and get into the car. Our ride is quiet until about six minutes in, when Kim suddenly speaks up:

"You did pack the, um, the- well, you know…" she stammers, her cheeks flushing. "What's in the top drawer of your bedside table underneath your medical journals? You packed that, right?"

My cheeks flush just as deeply and she knows that means no.

I knew I was forgetting something.

Four minutes later, thanks to Kim's speeding, she's quickly making her way back into the house. From where I'm sitting in the passenger's seat, I see the lights in our second floor bedroom flick on, then off, and a moment later she's back in the driver's seat after shoving the forgotten item deep into her suitcase.

"How'd you explain that?" I ask as we drive away once more.

She smiles slyly. "I just told Mom that I forgot my makeup bag."

I grin. "Nicely done."

Day 2: At Sea

Eli…

"Kerry…"

Max?

"Kerry?"

Henry!

"Kerry!"

My eyes fly open to see Kim's. I'm breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating, and she has a firm hand on my damp arm.

I fall back against my pillow, trying to get my breath back, images of the nightmare I've just been awoken from flashing before my eyes: it took place in a long, dark, narrow hallway, there'd been no doors, I'd been alone, and, apparently, the kids were missing.

"Are you okay?" Kim asks gently.

I nod.

"Nightmare?"

I nod again.

She falls back on her own pillow, her hand now holding mine. "Well, I guess someone won't be drinking right before bedtime anymore." She teases, obviously trying to lighten my mood.

It works, and I give her a small smile. "Guess not."

Day 3: Cozumel, Mexico

"I think I'm getting new freckles already…" Kerry groans. "Actually, sun spots are more like it…"

I can't help but laugh at her genuine concern that she's not wearing enough sun block after I've witnessed her applying copious amounts of SPF75. I also find it amusing that she thinks her skin is old enough to even get sun spots.

"I think you need to relax, Ker…we're on our honeymoon, don't forget." I say as kindly as possible.

She drops her gaze a little guiltily but I'm quick to take her hand. She glances at me, smiles slightly, and we remain wordless as we lounge on the luxurious beach chairs, which closely resemble the stereotypical loungers that lay in the occasional psychologist's office.

"I can't remember the last time I was at the beach…" she mutters after a while.

"We went two weeks ago." I say, my eyebrows furrowing as I wonder how she's forgotten our trip with the kids to Montrose Beach, a beautiful beach on the south shore of Lake Michigan.

"No, no…I mean the ocean." She says and begins to shake her head incredulously. "I think it was when Sandy and I went to Barbados before…" she trails off but I know how the sentence ends.

I take her hand once more and give it a supporting squeeze; I know she's had a hard time with this trip, and not just because we're away from the kids, but I'm determined to help her enjoy it.

"You know there's no place I'd rather be than with you, right?" I ask, my thumb stroking hers softly.

Her gaze finds mine and a small, albeit slightly sad smile creeps to her lips. She simply nods, but I know it's genuine.

Day 4: At Sea

"Oh…my…" Kim's head falls back against the wall of the shower, her chest heaving, "Oh my god, Kerry."

"Shhh…" I demand without stopping the careful work I'm doing.

Still panting and writhing, she responds, "We're on an Olivia cruise ship, Kerry…even if anyone could hear us through these walls, do you really think they would give it a second thought?"

She has a point and in reply I continue my passionate ministrations between her legs. Soon, she's thrown over climax's edge with me right on her heels, and for those twenty or so seconds, neither one of us could care any less if the women in the next room, next hall, or next floor over could hear us.

"Good lord…" Kim says once she' begun to recover.

I smile and kiss her chest, neck, and cheek.

Once we've finished showering and dressing we exit our rooms with plans of laying out by the pool. As we exit our cabin, the women I recognize as our neighbors walk by, smirking suggestively and giggling as they pass.

I look to Kim once she's locked the door, one eyebrow raised.

She smiles and grabs my hand. "They're just jealous." She says with a wicked grin, "And with good reason." She adds, her voice thick with seduction.

I can't help but let a blush creep up my neck.

Day 5: Belize City, Belize

"I can't believe you've made me come in here…" I mutter under my breath, looking at Kerry as we creep through a dark, musty passageway of a Mayan ruin.

She scoffs and smiles teasingly, "Afraid of the dark, Legaspi?"

"Maybe…" I reply playfully. I'm not, and she knows I'm not, but something about these temples, that were built thousands of years ago and have somehow stayed standing, is really freaking me out.

Kerry must've caught something in my voice because she grabs my hand and holds it loosely as we venture through the ruins.

It's strange how something as simple as intertwined fingers can set worries to rest. I suppose that's how it works for children, when you have to give them a hug or give them your hand if they're disconcerted or scared, but I find it interesting that the same works for me, a thirty seven year old mother of three. Actually, I find it more interesting than the fact that something as simple as ancient architecture sets me on edge.

I take comfort out of the hand I hold in my own, and the fact that Kerry has the ability to set me at ease is just a reminder of why it is I love her, and what it is that we share.

"Kim?" I hear Kerry asking for my attention, and from her tone, I can tell this isn't the first time she's said my name.

"Hm? Sorry…" I respond, looking at her.

"It's fine…what were you thinking about?" She asks, interested.

I shrug and smile. "You." I respond honestly. "And us."

She raises a single eyebrow and smiles incredulously, but shrugs as well and holds my hand a little more tightly.

Day 6: Costa Maya, Mexico

"I think she'd like this one…" Kim says, holding out a long necklace made of colorful beads.

"I think she'd strangle herself with that one." I say, pointing out the extremely long length of the strand.

She places it back down, scanning the table of beads for shorter, more kid-friendly pieces of jewelry.

After a few minutes, I pick one up and hold it out for her to see, "How's this one?"

She takes a scanning look and shakes her head. "It's green."

"It's soapstone."

"She hates green."

I sigh and place the necklace back where I found it.

Moments later, she holds one up. "This one is perfect."

I look at it and nod; it's strange how a simple twelve inch necklace can remind one so much of their child, but that's exactly what this one has done. Its pink stones are smooth and shiny, each one a different shade than the ones next to it, and the clasp is a clean silver. The color very much resembles that of her bedroom, and it somehow just screams the name "Maxine."

"It's perfect. Absolutely."

I take it from my French-and-English-speaking wife's hand and show it to the shop owner, quickly asking how much it is in Spanish. She tells me thirteen American dollars, but I'm able to barter down to nine-fifty. The old woman smiles and hands me the necklace in exchange for her money, and we soon find ourselves walking through the marketplace once more.

"That was pretty…" Kim begins before trailing off.

I stare at her. "Was pretty what?"

"Hot." She says.

I narrow my eyes at her and furrow my eyebrows. "Hot?"

She chuckles and I see a blush creep up her neck. "Yeah."

"What was?" I ask confused.

She runs a hand through her blonde curls. "You bargaining with her…in Spanish…" she giggles again, "I am suddenly very, very warm."

I laugh, shake my head, and bump her hip with my own. "Well, in a few hours we will be back on the boat." I say suggestively.

"A few hours!" she mock-complains, "I don't know how I'll ever survive!"

I laugh again, wondering how it is I possibly deserve such a beautiful, albeit easily aroused, wife.

Day 7: At Sea

"Can we just stay here forever?" I ask. My leg is slung over Kerry's, my hand is in hers, and her head is resting in a nook just below my chin.

She sighs, but shakes her head; her red hair rubs the underside of my chin. "I don't think the bosses would like that very much…" she says.

"You're the only boss, Kerry." I remind her.

She chuckles. "I'm talking about the kids."

I smile and nod. "Right…well I'd have to agree with you." I shift slightly and sit up so I'm looking into her eyes. "But I still think I'd like to make a habit of doing this. You know, just relaxing with you. Even if it does mean we take a night or a weekend for ourselves once a month or whenever."

She nods. "I think that sounds like a great idea."

I lie back down and pull her up into my arms.

A great idea indeed.

Day 8: Home

"I don't know, Ker…maybe they've all left." Kim calls out loudly as she enters our home; the kids are presumably hiding from us, wanting to surprise us upon our return home. "I guess we should just leave, huh? Maybe we could find another cruise to go on?"

I nod, playing my wife's game. "I think that sounds wonderful. Where should we go? Bermuda?"

She makes a theatrical contemplative noise. "I was thinking we could go around the world!" She exclaims.

I'm smiling at Kim when I hear a quiet whispering coming from behind the couch. Suddenly, a blonde and two brunette heads appear and the word 'Surprise!' is being yelled at us.

"Oh my goodness! I thought you had all run away!" Kim exclaims, kneeling down to receive a running hug from Maxine while I bent at the waist to receive hugs from my two sons.

"No! We pretended!" Max says, her head resting on Kim's shoulder as she picks her up.

I laugh, running my hand through Eli's hair. "Well you did a fantastic job." I tell them.

All three smile.

"Where are Nana and Pops?" I ask, looking around the living room.

"Makin' dinner." Henry says, still holding onto my hand.

I nod. "Well then we should go to the kitchen, shouldn't we?" I ask.

Eli nods, but then looks back at his mother and I. "Did you bring us anything from Meck-ee-co?"

I shrug playfully and wink. "Maybe…how about we have dinner then find out?" I suggest.

He flashes a large smile and joins our two children and their grandparents in the kitchen.

I fall back with Kim, watching them walk away. We remain silent as we observe our three children; Henry, who, at only two years older than the twins, towers over them, has brown curls that are long and wild, resembling not only Sandy's, but, ironically, Kim's as well. Eli, who stands next to him, is the smallest of the three and has neatly cut brown hair that hasn't a single curl. Then there's Max, who is ahead of the two and skipping, her blonde curls jumping in sync with her dress-up tutu.

We don't say anything to each other, but I know that we share a strong feeling of pure and unabiding love for not only our children, but our family as a whole.


	20. Children

**028: Children**

_Fall, 2011_

"Stelllllla!" Maxine screeches, running across the backyard towards her six year old cousin whom she praises. Stella smiles, her eyes widening, and the two meet with open arms before running off together.

"Don't get your dress dirty!" Jess, Stella's mother and Kim's sister-in-law, calls out. Turning towards her three other children who are standing at her feet, she makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Go ahead, go ahead…Henry and Eli are right over there." With those words, Stella's twin brother Simon, their older brother Harry, and their youngest sister Violet scamper off in search of their fellow cousins to play.

"I bet Bill and Nancy never thought they'd have ten grandkids under the age of ten…" Jess says, shaking her head with a smile. She's speaking of our combined seven and Jack's twin sister, Rachel's, three.

_And hell, Kim's youngest brother, Mitchell, hasn't even had kids yet,_ I think to myself, shaking my head as well.

Jess chuckles. "I can't even imagine having more than one kid, and I do." She says, smiling. We're silent for a second before she asks: "Are you planning on having any more?"

I stare at her for a second, then shake my head. "No, no…I…no." I stutter slightly. "No."

"Alright, alright…" she says, holding her hands up with a smile. "But you never know."

I nod in understanding and glance at the herd of kids who are surrounding the swing set. It's not as if the thought hasn't crossed my mind over the past couple of years; Kim and I even discussed it after the twins turned four. We seriously considered it, actually. We even made a lengthy pro and con list. Ultimately, the cons outweighed the pros and we decided a newborn baby- or maybe even two, what with the ridiculous amount of twins in Kim's family- was not what our family needed. Sure, I would love nothing more than to have another child under our roof, but as of two years ago when we last discussed it, it just wasn't a logical addition to make. Then again, that was two years ago, and _a lot_ can change in two years…

"Momma!" Henry's yelling demands my attention and snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance across the lawn and see him swinging high in the air, nine year old Harry standing behind him, waiting to give his cousin another push.

I show a thumbs up and he smiles, pumping his tanned legs hard. Next to him are Stella and Max, running in a circle and giggling about something, and far to the left are Simon and Eli, undoubtedly playing with their Hot Wheels and Tonka trucks. I frown, unsure of where Violet is, until I catch the toddler running towards us out of the corner of my eye.

Jess sees her too and calls out. "What's up, Vi?"

The three year old huffs, "Maxie and Stella won't play!"

I can see Jess suppress an eye roll; I can tell this is a frequent problem in her household. Getting up, she smiles apologetically to me and leads her youngest daughter towards the rest of the children. I observe the situation, thinking about the age difference between her twins and her youngest daughter; three years isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but when it marks the difference between school-age and toddler, I can understand how it's problematic at times. If Kim and I decided to have another child within the next year we, too, would be dealing with an age difference dilemma: not only would there be about six years between our twins and a new child, but there would be an entire eight between him or her and Henry. I know that there are many siblings who are just fine with such age differences, but I can't imagine having to deal with it myself. What is a ten year old supposed to do when his or her oldest brother is graduating high school and their other two siblings are getting their driver's licenses?

"Situation: diverted." Jess replies with a smile as she reclaims her seat on the patio.

I smile and nod; apparently diverting said situation wasn't as hard as I thought it would be…

Well, regardless of how hard it was, I still don't know if I want to deal with it; you can call me a coward or lazy or a chicken, but I just don't know if that's what I want…then again, I never thought marriage was what I wanted, either. But no matter what, dealing with tiffs and 'situations' isn't the only part of raising children. There's the fact that Kim and I already have three kids, one of whom requires the same amount of attention as the other two combined, and that we both have demanding jobs, and that, as much as I'd like to ignore it, I'm in no way as young as Kim, just to name a few...

Glancing back at the group of kids playing, I sigh.

I guess we'll just have to see.


	21. Not Enough

**034: Not Enough**

_October, 2011_

When Kim steps out of the front door, I slow the motion of the swing on our porch by planting my foot on the wooden floorboards, slowing it until it's still enough for her to sit down next to me. She hands me a glass of wine and pulls her right leg up underneath herself. I thank her quietly and silence falls over us, our eyes trained on separate things around our neighborhood: the setting sun, the man who lives three houses down riding his bicycle, and a small Volkswagen driving by slowly.

"Beautiful, huh?" She asks, putting her hand on my thigh.

I nod and turn to face her, taking a deep breath in hopes to calm my racing heart; I feel like I'm coming out to Helen all over again.

"Kerry? What's up?" She asks, her eyes narrowing. Damn her and her intuition.

"I…I've been thinking…Um…Well…" I stammer, glancing from her face to my lap and back to her face.

She looks genuinely concerned. "It's okay, babe…no matter what it is, it's okay."

I nod and take one deep breath. "I think…I think I want us to have another baby."

Kim stares at me for a moment, one eyebrow arched slightly higher than the other, and then she starts to giggle quietly.

"Stop it, Kim…" I say, slightly annoyed. "I'm not kidding."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she says, "I know you're not…I just thought it was going to be something…something bad."

I nod slowly then do a double take. "So does that mean…it's not a bad idea? I know we've talked about it, and it never-"

"seemed like the right time." She says, finishing my sentence.

I nod. "But I think…I think now would be a good time: the kids are older, and they're gaining more and more independence, both of our jobs are stable…"

Kim smiles and squeezes my thigh. "I know, and I agree…I've been thinking about it for a while, too…I really don't feel like our family is complete, you know? And I don't think it's a void that a cat or dog could fill…" she says, chuckling.

"No; no dogs." I shake my head, "You don't think the kids are too old, do you?" I ask, my smile falling. _Or that I'm to old_, I add in my head.

Kim shakes her head, not giving my question a second thought. "Not at all. Don't forget: there are nine years between Mitchell and I, and eight between the twins and I, and we all turned out perfectly fine." She encourages.

I nod. She's right: she and Jack are closer than any other siblings I've ever met, regardless of the rather large age difference between them. "So you didn't mind it? When you were growing up, I mean?"

Kim's eyes move to study the ceiling, her facial expression thoughtful. She's silent for a moment, obviously thinking, before, she shakes her head. "No…well I guess, at times it was rough, but I think there are rough times for all kids when they're growing up. It was really nice when I was younger; Rach and Jack were ten years old when I was born, so as they went into high school I was just starting preschool myself, and then it was practically like I was an only child; they were always off at friends' houses or sports' practices, so all eyes were on me, but I still had that support system of older siblings, you know? That was good for a few years, but when Mitchell came around, I was pretty lonely…my mom would be one hundred percent devoted to him all of the time, or at least that's how it seemed at the time, and with both Rachel and Jack in college, I was pretty much the older sibling, you know, which wasn't something I was used to. At all. But that feeling only lasted a little while…until Mitch was a toddler, I guess."

I nod in understanding.

"But I think that has a lot more to do with my parents than it does with the fact that us kids were so spread out. I don't think either of us will be working ten hours a day, six days a week in the office." She says a little bitterly, undoubtedly speaking of her father, Attorney Robert Legaspi, whom I've never actually met. "And besides, there will only be seven or so years between it and the twins, and nine between Henry." She adds, her tone lighter.

She makes a good point. I take a deep breath and smile a little nervously, looking towards her. "So, you really think this is a good idea?" I ask.

Kim nods, giving me a large smile that I know is nothing but genuine. "There's very little I want more than to have a baby with you, Kerry."

I know every letter of every word of that statement is one hundred percent factual, and I move forward to press my lips to hers.

"Then let's have a baby…" I say quietly, smiling against her mouth.


	22. Red

**011: Red**

_November, 2011_

"I like this one…" I say, reading the profile of an anonymous sperm donor, "Got his masters in international business from New York University; five foot eleven; enjoys reading, photography, and skiing; of Irish decent-'"

Kerry cuts me off. "Is he a ginger?"

I lift my eyes to meet hers. "…Maybe…"

She sighs in frustration. "Kim, why are you so set on this child having red hair? I love yours and Maxine's blonde curls...wouldn't you like him or her to have them, too? Or even brown hair like Eli and Henry?"

"No…I would like for him or her to share his or her other mother's _beautiful_ features." I reply flirtatiously.

She rolls her eyes. "Easily sunburned, made fun of for being the devil's spawn or for having smashed flies on your face…yeah, real beautiful."

I roll my eyes right back, but smile as I do so. What is with this woman and her ridiculous insecurities?

Setting down my laptop, I roll onto my knees and remove her own laptop from her lap. Then I move forward until I'm straddling her thighs. "Unique patterns created by intricately positioned freckles," I say, tracing my index finger lightly across one of those very patterns that marks her arm, "and beautiful, porcelain colored skin with just the right amount of color in the cheeks," a kiss on her right cheek, "and the most luscious red hair I've ever seen." I finish, running my hands through that very head of hair and massaging her scalp.

She looks up at me, her eyes staring into my own.

"You really want it to be a redhead?"

I nod.

"You know that means a lifetime of SPF75, right?"

I nod again.

"And probably not looking like his or her half-Latino brother or half-Greek, half-French siblings?"

I nod again. "I like diversity."

"And a few teenage years of wanting to have a tan like all the rest of her classmates?"

"Well what if we have a boy? He probably won't care about that…"

She stares at me. "Well I don't know what he'd be worried about because I'm not a man, am I?"

I laugh at her amusingly childish argument. "Well Ron Weasley has red hair and he did pretty well for himself, helping Harry defeat the Dark Lord and all…"

Kerry raises a dubious eyebrow. "Reading the kids a little too much Harry Potter at bedtime, are we?"

I kiss her forehead. "Queen Elizabeth was a ginger…that actor from Grey's Anatomy is a ginger…that 'Flying Tomato' snowboarder or whoever is a ginger...Oh! Prince Harry is too! He's a _great_ polo player..." I rattle off all the redheads I can think of off the top of my head. "But most importantly: the most amazing, beautiful, loving, caring, nurturing, intelligent woman I've ever known is a ginger, and I think her child would be honored to share that with her."

I know she can't help but grin a little.

"Will you let him or her share that with you?" I ask.

She sighs and shrugs. "If that's what you want…I guess I can't really argue. Especially since you are the one who will be carrying it for nine months."

I kiss her once more, thanking her silently, before reclaiming my seat.

She picks up her laptop and I do the same, and we remain quiet for a few minutes as we scan through a few more profiles.

"You know who else had red hair?" She asks.

"Hm?" I reply without looking away from the screen of my computer.

"Robert Romano."

I look up, my wide eyes meeting her amused ones.

She chuckles, and then looks back at her computer. "But if it's what you want…" she teases.

I slowly drop my gaze.

Well shit…


	23. Circle

**044: Circle**

_January, 2012_

"Kerry?" I moan into my pillow, my voice almost unintelligible. A bout with the stomach flu on top of some serious morning sickness has left me tied to our bed for the entire weekend and has banished our kids, who get more than enough exposure to these germs at school, from even seeing me.

I'm shivering profusely and her warm hands on the back of my neck create a welcomed contrast. I roll over carefully, not wanting to give my slightly rounded stomach any reason to revolt, and blink until her concerned face comes into focus.

"I would ask how you're feeling but that seems like it'd be a silly question…" she says softly.

The corners of my mouth flick upwards slightly, but only slightly; it takes far too much effort to smile right now. "Where are the kids?" I murmur instead. Kerry has been keeping them busy since Friday night, even going as far as getting someone to cover her shift so we didn't have to worry about finding a babysitter for twelve hours.

She leans back into the bed and lies down next to me, her hands creating small circles on the inside of my hand. For such minimal contact, it feels wonderful. "They're with Mitchell…" Kerry explains.

The idea of my young, sometimes immature and irresponsible brother watching our children is alarming, but again: debating my wife's judgment in allowing that would take too much energy. Energy that I just do not have to spare.

"They love your brother…" Kerry speaks to my silent concerns.

I nod gently.

We remain silent for a couple long moments, Kerry soothing me gently, before a thought crosses my mind, one that would generally register much earlier: "Kerry, stop." I demand, weakly attempting to move away from her. "You're going to get sick…."

The redhead hushes me and pulls me back towards her. "Just relax, Kim."

"You really don't want this bug, Ker…" I mutter.

She doesn't relent, continuing to hold me close. "Shh…"

I give in, my eyelids closing heavily. "I love you…"

Kerry kisses my hands and the last thing I hear before I fall back into a fever-induced sleep is her sweet voice telling me she loves me too.


	24. Choices

**086: Choices**

_May, 2012_

I lean over my coffee mug, head in hand and elbow planted on the table. Kim is standing at the stove making breakfast before the kids wake up, and when she turns to speak to me I see belly, which is swollen with six months of pregnancy, and that isn't even detectable when you look at her slender body from the back.

"Well, should we get to it?"

She's speaking of a discussion we've been having for weeks, the one we decided to try to finally settle this morning: names for the baby.

"I still like Connor…" I say.

Kim cringes. "Kerry, Kim, and Connor?" she asks, an eyebrow arched. "That's a bit…well, overly alliterated."

I try not to roll my eyes. "Alright…then what's your first choice? For a boy?"

She shrugs. "Well I don't really have just a first choice...I have three."

"Three?"

She nods, turning her head back to the stove to tend to the pancakes. "Asher, Tristan, Aiden."

I stare at the back of her head for a moment, wondering if I should offer my opinion now or later. I decide on later, hoping to spare myself from the hormonal wrath. "And for a girl?" I ask, hoping there might be some better choices in that group.

Her smile grows. "Well I have a few…but you tell me yours first." She says, her tone giddy.

"I only have one:" I tell her, "Gwyneth…after my mom."

She turns around and smiles. "Gwyneth is a beautiful name…Gwen for short, right?"

I nod; Gwen was the only name my mom went by. "What other names did you like?" I ask, secretly hoping that we'll be able to compromise and somehow incorporate my mother's name, even if it isn't as our child's first name. I was lucky in that Sandy was more than willing to honor my father in naming Henry, and I'd like to do the same if we have a daughter.

She smiles and begins to tick off her fingers as she recites six names: Emerson, Emilee, Mackenzie, Hannah, Alexandra, and Addison. In all honestly, when comparing her choices for boy names and girl names, I am very hopeful that we are having a girl.

"They're all very pretty." I tell her honestly. "Especially Emerson."

She raises an eyebrow. "None of the boy names, though?"

I gnaw gently on my bottom lip for a moment. "Not as much…" I admit.

Kim shrugs. "Well if it's a girl we'll be in luck, won't we?" She asks lightly before turning back to the stove, which she turns off before stacking the pancakes onto the large plate she grabbed earlier.

I nod. A girl would be nice. Well, a healthy baby is first priority, of course, but if I had a choice, I think I'd choose a girl. Especially for the sake of Maxine…despite the best efforts of Kim and I to abolish gender roles and stereotypes in our household, she loves her dolls, ballet, and dress-up while the boys, especially Henry, are infatuated with cars, trucks, and getting dirty.

And besides, another girl would make a nice even ratio on the family Christmas photo.

"I'm going to go get the munchkins." I say, standing up and heading towards the stairs.

I awake Eli first, accepting a sleep hug from the preschooler before gently pushing his earmolds into his ear canals and sliding his hearing aids over his ears. I intentionally leave them off; we always give him the option to turn them on when he's ready, which is normally somewhere in between breakfast and playtime. With him on my heels, I head to the next bedroom.

I flick off the nightlight near the door and approach Henry, who, unsurprisingly, is already awake.

After sending the two boys downstairs, I walk into sleeping beauty's dungeon. Maxine's bedroom is absolutely pitch black, despite the bright morning sun that is shining outside her window, and she is wrapped up in her blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon. At first, I think she's completely consumed by the numerous sheets and throws, but after a closer look I can see a mess of blonde hair peeking out from the top. I take a few quiet steps closer to her small bed then kneel down next to it, placing my hand gently onto of the mound that is my daughter.

"Maxine…" I whisper, my tone slightly sing-songy.

The mass of blankets moves slightly.

"Max-innne." I repeat a little louder.

A large gush of breath comes out in a little groan from under the blankets and the mound turns over. After a moment of quiet movement, I see little hands clawing their way out of the nest and then her blonde head pops out completely.

"Good morning, sleepyhead…" I say softly.

She blinks groggily and clambers into my arms, pushing her face against my neck. I smile to myself and boost her into my arms before standing up and carrying her downstairs. Thankfully, she has Kim's build; her feather light weight as a six year old is comparable to that of Henry's when he was four and a half.

As I carefully navigate the stairs with my daughter on my hip and see my sons in the kitchen with their mother, I find myself appreciating the routines we as a family have created and I am pleased as I again realize that our choice to bring another life into this world, into this family, is a good one.

Even if he or she does end up having a not-so-attractive- at least in my opinion- name.


	25. Birth

**029: Birth**

_August 4th, 2012_

I hear a hushed whisper-like noise and a quiet groan, and try my hardest to tune whatever it is, out; I arrived home at twelve forty five this morning, fell into bed at one, and my internal clock is telling me it's only about three. At the latest.

"Kerry!" Kim suddenly whispers, her tone urgent.

I make a cursing noise under my breath and roll over, my eyes opening and taking in a blurred vision of my wife. Reaching behind my back, I grab my glasses and slide them onto my face. "What is it?" I ask.

As my eyes adjust to being able to see clearly, a wave of panic rushes through me when I see the pained expression on Kim's face; a feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me we'll be meeting our youngest child by day's end.

"Kim?" I ask, now sitting up straight after having reached behind me again to flick on the light.

As she lets out a deep breath, her tense face relaxes.

"'You okay?" I question.

She nods and pulls herself into a sitting position, her back against the headboard.

"Contraction?"

She nods again.

I was expecting her to give me the details, as in how long they'd been going on and how long they lasted, but she remains silent. A little impatiently, which is undoubtedly derived from lack of sleep and not from lack of compassion, I ask her for the details I need as her wife, this child's mother, and as a doctor.

"They started around dinner time, but they weren't anything more than cramps…" she says, and I find myself slightly upset that she didn't call me at work to let me know. "So I put the kids to bed, did the laundry, took a bath, then went to bed. They either stopped or I slept through them, because I've only been awake since two or so." She says.

I glance at the clock over her shoulder; like I thought, it's just a quarter past three. "But they're not too frequent?" I ask. "How long are they lasting?"

She shakes her head. "I haven't been keeping track really, but I don't think I've had any more than six or seven since I woke up."

"So maybe about eleven minutes apart…" I murmur, more to myself than to her. "Do you think you can go back to sleep? You probably should try…" Because this is going to be a long day, I finish in my head.

She shrugs then lies back down. I take that as a yes and reach behind me to turn off the light. My head hits the pillow heavily and I soon find myself falling back into a light sleep, the fact that my wife is in labor and the idea that we'll probably have another son or daughter by day's end keeping me from actually resting well.

Despite it being a light sleep, I somehow manage to catch a few more hours before a hand clutching my arm awakens me. When I open my eyes I am partially pleased to see that there are streaks of early morning light flowing in through the windows, but am disconcerted when I see Kim lying on her side with her eyes squeezed shut.

I put a supportive hand over the one that is braced on my arm and stroke it gently until the contraction passes. When it does, I glance at the clock; it's five past six.

"How're you doing?" I ask, now wide awake.

She sighs tiredly. "Not so well." She admits.

A pang of sympathy strikes in my stomach but I remain calm. "Did you get much sleep?"

Kim shakes her head heavily.

"You should take another bath…" I suggest.

She nods and begins to pull herself out of bed. Slowly, she makes her way towards the bathroom door, only to stop and turn around before turning the knob. "Will you, you know, come with me?"

I give her a small smile and nod, climbing out of bed and following my wife into the bathroom, where I'm quick to turn on the faucets and jets of the Jacuzzi-style bathtub. After it's filled and we've shed our pajamas, I climb in first and make a space for her between my legs. Then I help her into a sitting position, my hands steadying her as she steps into the deep, warm water.

Once seated, she lets her head fall back on my chest before turning towards me. "Is your hip going to be okay with me sitting like this?" She asks sleepily.

"Just worry about what's comfortable for you."I reply.

She sighs, her temper obviously shortened by her discomfort and sleeplessness. "What's going to comfort me is knowing you're not in pain, Kerry."

I kiss her forehead. "I'm fine, sweetie…but thank you."

She nods and begins to relax in my arms.

Minutes later I have my hands resting across her swollen belly and am running my fingers gently up and down when I feel her entire body tense and her head rolls to face the other direction as a low moan escapes her throat. I feel helpless as I sit behind her, even though I know there's little I can do but to be there to support her. What's even worse is knowing that it's only going to get more painful from here.

After a moment, she relaxes once more, only to tense up again a few minutes later.

This pattern goes on, and, after a long while, the bubbling water settles and my hip, as Kim expected, begins to ache. I roll my eyes and try to block it out, frustrated that it's happening right now of all moments. Actually, I'm frustrated that it's happening at all; I'm not sitting in any particularly absurd position, yet whenever I find myself with my legs spread, for lack of better phrasing, a very distinct pain attacks my hip. Normally I'm able to just reposition myself, but that's not exactly an option when your wife is going through the early stage of labor between your legs. So instead, I try to relax in a way similar to the way I know Kim is trying to relax, and lean my head back against the side of the tub.

After a few moments of silence, however, Kim turns her head towards me and speaks quietly. "The water's getting cold, Ker…"

I nod. "Do you want to lie back down? I should probably check on the kids…" I say, wondering what time it is, if any of them are awake, and when I'll have to call Kim's mother to watch them while we're at the hospital.

She slowly and carefully pulls herself out of the bathtub. I watch her as she does so, mostly studying her body while part of me wants to make sure she's alright. I find it interesting that both she and Sandy gained nothing but the minimal amount of weight during their pregnancies and that, for Kim in particular, to look at her from behind one wouldn't even know she's pregnant. From the front, however, she's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

Once she's safely out, I pull myself out as well. I slip in a spot of water but am quick to steady myself. I try to hide a small grimace as the already-cramped muscles in my leg are stretched in attempt to remain upright. I've apparently not done a good enough job hiding it, however, because when I straighten up and catch Kim's eye, I see worry in their depths and concern on her face.

"Kerry-" she begins, but I'm quick to cut her off.

"Please don't worry about me, Kim…" I say even though I know it won't be enough to settle her. "I only just started to get uncomfortable, and that slip was nothing. I promise."

She sighs and says nothing, then suddenly grips the sink as another contraction hits. I'm quick to stand behind her and my hand find a place in the small of her back. This one seems to last roughly sixty seconds, which I'm pleased to assume means progress is being made. After grabbing a new set of clothes, she heads back to bed, walking, or waddling as the case may be, like a zombie. She really needs to find some way to get some rest…

"Do you need anything?" I ask after I've dressed. When she shakes her head, I tell her that I'm going to go check on the troops and that I'll be back in a while.

Unsurprisingly, I find Henry just hardly awake in his bed when I enter. When light from the hall leaks in, his brown eyes open completely and he smiles sleepily. "Momma, hi…" he murmurs as he sits up.

I smile and sit on the edge of his bed. "Guess what?" I say, running my hand through his unruly curls.

He smiles widely, instantly knowing what I'm going to tell him. "The baby's coming?" He exclaims, now bouncing.

I chuckle and nod; he's been asking every morning for a week. He jumps out of bed and heads straight for the door at warp speed.

I laugh again. "Hold up, cowboy! Mommy's resting right now and I need to get ready to bring her to the hospital, so I'm going to need you to be the greatest, most helpful big brother ever, okay?" I ask.

He nods, excited to have this newfound responsibility.

"Good. I'm going to wake the twins up then make you guys breakfast, but after that you're going to have to play downstairs." I tell him. "Can you help me by making sure you guys stay quiet?"

He nods seriously.

I smile and give my eldest son a hug. "Thanks buddy."

He hugs me back and smiles. "You're welcome Momma."

In only fifteen minutes' time, the three kids are positioned at the kitchen table with bowls of cereal and cups of orange juice in front of them and I'm on the phone with Nancy, Kim's mother. She agrees to come over within the next hour and a half and, after thanking her, I find myself digging through the kids' closets, packing a change of clothes for each of them into a backpack. After that, I take a quick look in the living room where I find three heads sitting on the couch in front of the television; I originally opposed Henry's suggestion that they be able to watch cartoons, but after thinking about it, I realized that it's probably the best, if not only way to keep them from getting into any tiffs. Now, I'm making my way quietly back into mine and Kim's bedroom. Expecting to see her either asleep or at least resting on the bed, I'm surprised when I see that it's empty.

"Kim?" I call out, slightly panicked.

Not receiving an answer and not seeing her anywhere in the bedroom, I call out again and head for the bathroom: "Kim?"

I'm thrown from concerned wife mode to fully fledge emergency medicine physician mode when I see Kim lying on the cold tile, two puddles of dark blood forming around her head and legs.

* * *

><p>"Thirty-seven year old woman; thirty eight weeks pregnant; has been in early labor since midnight; prolonged LOC from head trauma caused by fall; suspected placental abruption due to trauma. BP is 8050, tachychardic. Fetus is in and out of distress." I hear the EMT call out as the back of the ambulance opens. The bullet sounds so strange from this side. Glancing out, my eyes are firstly assaulted by the bright light that is the sun and then I'm slightly comforted by the sight that is Archie Morris and Samantha Taggart.

"Kerry?" Sam asks, squinting at me. "What are you—oh my god."

I can tell from her tone that the puzzle pieces in her head have connected.

My employees rush my hardly conscious wife into trauma one and I follow on their heels.

She's transferred to the bed and the EMTs hurry out, but the trauma room remains crowded.

A stream of beeps fills the room as not one, but two heart monitors are set into place.

Words fly as they work to stabilize not only mother, but child.

"Kerry?" I feel a hand on my arm and realize that I'm standing near the doorway, as far away from the patient, my wife, as possible. I look to my side and realize it's Haleh who has approached me.

"This is not how I thought today was going to go." It's the only thing I can say as it's the only thing I can think; the filter between my mind and mouth was lost when I found my wife close to bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

She says something, maybe 'I know', and continues to stand next to me, her hand still on my arm as doctors who I have trained and taught work on my wife and our child.

* * *

><p>I'm wearing scrubs, though I do not remember changing into them, and I'm standing at the head of an operating table, my hand holding the cold one that belongs to Kim. She's conscious, but hardly, and her eyes are half closed due to the drugs, head trauma, and the fear of what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen.<p>

"She's oozing-more lap pads."

She's lying on the table, an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, a pulse ox attached to her left ear, a sheet positioned in a way that obstructs her view of the bloody cavity that is her abdomen, and she's wearing a blue surgical cap that covers not only her hair, but also the four and a half inch laceration that runs diagonally from her hairline towards her ear that marks the spot where her head hit the granite countertop after she slipped in the very puddle I slipped in when climbing out of the bath earlier this morning.

"Hang another unit of packed cells."

"Fetus' heart rate is dropping: 98, 96, 95, 93…"

I'm sitting on a cold, stainless steel stool. I think, only for a moment, of how I was in this very position eight years ago but make quick work of pushing it from my mind; all my focus needs to be on the present, and the outcome of the previous situation is too grave for me to think about. I'm not one who has strong beliefs in good vibes or happy thoughts doing anything, but this time I'll do whatever can possibly help.

"Opening the uterus."

I stand up, my hand still in Kim's. Her eyes are still shut, but I see a tear escape from one corner. I wipe it away then glance at her abdomen as Coburn runs a number ten blade through her uterus. In a swift movement, a creature that looks like a baby is pulled from its depths and is placed on a blue cloth. There's no time for congratulations or the ritual of cord cutting; our child is noiseless and is whisked to an awaiting incubator.

"Another two units of packed cells—this is a lot of bleeding."

I am torn between my wife and our child: my hand is in Kim's, yet my eyes are on the life she created.

Going with my gut, I tune out Coburn and the anesthesiologist and listen in on the neonatologist and residents who are leaning over our child.

"BP is low—push Dopamine."

"Pulse is low but climbing…"

"Alright, let's get ready to move."

A very, very small feeling of relief washes over me and I turn back towards Kim, now replacing the young neonatologist's unfamiliar voice with Coburn and Babcock's familiar, almost comforting ones.

"I can't control this bleeding-hang another liter of type specific and two more units."

"BP's down to 80/45."

"Damnit…"

I squeeze Kim's hand and her eyelids flicker open, revealing glossy blue eyes. She tries to speak through the mask, but between her soft voice and the pressure of the oxygen, nothing is audible. I lift the piece of plastic off her face just long enough for her to repeat what she said.

"Don't let go…" she murmurs.

Tears sting my eyes but I shake my head once. "I won't."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! I generally try not to ask for reviews, but today IS my birthday, so... ;)<em>


	26. Writer's Choice: 5 Years Later

**096: Writer's Choice: 5 Years Later**

_September, 2017_

"Mom! Where are my cleats?"

"Kerry? Are you bringing the kids to school or am I?"

"Mom! Tell Gwen to give me back my headband! I need it!"

I rub the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and pushing myself away from my desk. It's not even eight o'clock and I've already got a headache. Fabulous.

I walk from my office, closing the door behind me and shuffling the papers I hold in my hand, and head first for the laundry room, where I know Henry's cleats are. I grab onto their black laces and bring them to kitchen, where my fourteen year old is frantically trying to get his things together, and drop them on the floor by his duffel bag. Then, as he thanks me, I head upstairs to find my daughters, but stop in mine and Kim's room to tell her that I've got a meeting at nine so I can drive the kids to school as long as she brings Gwen to kindergarten. She nods, thanks me and continues dressing, and I walk to the end of the hall and into Maxine's bedroom. There, I find her standing with her hands on her narrow hips and eyes pinned dangerously on her five year old sister.

"Mom," she begins with attitude dripping thickly from her voice, "please tell Gwen to give me my headband."

I look at my youngest child who's standing on the other side of the room, her hands clutching a plaid headband that matches her sister's skirt, which is a part of her school uniform.

I raise one eyebrow and look at both of them. "Have you tried asking nicely?" I question the twelve year old.

She nods rapidly, loose curls bouncing, "It didn't work."

I don't doubt it.

"Gwen, can you please give that back to your sister?" I try.

The redhead stares at me but doesn't budge.

"Gwyneth Emerson Legaspi-Weaver…you have until the count of three to give that headband back to your sister…"

Blue eyes stare at me.

"1…"

She looks at her sister but doesn't move.

"2…"

I think I'm going to have say three when she stomps her small foot and throws the headband at her sister, who flinches away from the flying hairpiece, before darting from the bedroom.

"You have five minutes before you need to be eating breakfast." I warn Maxine before exiting the bedroom in search of my daughter. As I walk down the hall, I pass my youngest son, who is putting his right hearing aid on.

"Hey," I wave my hand slightly to get his attention, "you okay?"

He just nods and keeps walking, heading for the stairs. I make a note to talk to him tonight; I know he's had a hard time adjusting to being in middle school, much harder than Max, and Kim and I thought we'd let him sort it out himself, but I think two weeks of an obviously melancholy mood is enough to warrant a little chat.

"Gwen?" I call out, finally stepping into her pink-walled bedroom. "Come out here, please."

There's no movement in her bedroom for a moment, but then the closet door in the corner slowly creaks open and a frowning five year old steps out.

"I'm tired of you taking Maxine's things, Gwen…you need to ask first, alright?" I say, looking into her blue eyes.

She huffs before nodding. She was forced to be tough from the moment she entered this world, her vitals weak and life hanging in the balance as her mother struggled for her own life, and she hasn't let an ounce of that stubbornness go since. Not a single ounce.

"Okay, now head downstairs and eat breakfast." I direct her.

She shuffles out the door, her socked feet sliding across the hardwood floors. When I hear her walking down the stairs, I let go of the sigh I'd been suppressing and sit down on her twin-sized bed: how is it possible that Mondays as a working mother of four are harder than Mondays as a sometimes-hungover college student? Or a resident who'd been on for the entire weekend?

Taking a deep breath, I stand back up to head downstairs and face the day, whether I really want to or not.

"Rough morning, Weaver?" My favorite voice asks playfully from behind.

I turn and smile. "Mondays; Gotta love Mondays."

She nods and envelopes me into a needed hug , making me suddenly feel a lot better. "I'll take the kids to school if you want to get to the hospital early? Prepare for your meeting and all?" she asks.

I kiss her cheek, thanking her for her thoughtful offer but shake my head. "It's on my way; go ahead and enjoy your morning off."

She kisses me back and nods, and together we walk downstairs. We enter the kitchen to find our four children sitting at the breakfast bar, bowls of cereal in front of each of them and a silence spread out across the entire room. It's a beautiful, albeit small, thing that does a good job of erasing the craziness of the past hour and a half.

I grab my travel mug and fill it with coffee then lean back against the counter, surveying my family. It may be overwhelming at times, having four children, a hell of a demanding job, and wife whose job is just as crazy, no pun intended, but when I see their faces, all is forgiven and forgotten; the happiness my family gives me is worth every little struggle.

I realize I'm staring at Henry when he lifts his gaze from his breakfast and cocks his head to the side, smiling slightly.

I smile back then look at the twins, Gwen, then finally at Kim.

They're definitely worth it.


	27. Shade

**075: Shade**

_September, 2017_

"Do you understand what's going on?" I ask Kim, glancing at her. She's lying on her stomach on the sheet we generally reserve for the beach. Gwen is lying next to her, a long red braid falling over her shoulder, and they both look at me with identically raised eyebrows.

"Ker, how old is Henry?" Kim asks.

Slowly, I tell her that he's fourteen, which is something that she already knows.

"And how old was he when he started playing?"

Slowly, I tell her that he was about five. She should know that, too.

"Nine years and you still don't get it?" She smiles and shakes her head. "I'd think that, by now, you'd know as much as Mia Hamm herself."

I chuckle at her teasing and shrug. I do understand the basic rules of not being able to touch the ball with your hands, and that the point is to score in the goal on the other side of the field, but other than that, I might as well be watching a Chinese soap opera. Hell, I don't even know who Mia Hamm is.

The three of us sit in relative silence as we watch the game, but after a few minutes, a young girl approaches our blanket. I faintly recognize her, but can't quite place a name to her tanned face.

"Gwen! Wanna' go to the swings?" the moment I hear her distinguished, raspy voice, the girl's name, Emma, pops into my head. The fact that her older brother, AJ, is on Henry's soccer team also registers in my mind.

Gwen looks first at Kim, then at me, and we both nod. "Go ahead." I tell her.

The redhead smiles and waves before running off with her friend.

Now that she's alone on the blanket, Kim sits herself up and leans back against the tree next to me.

"Did you ever think you'd be a soccer mom?" She asks me, taking gentle hold of my hand.

I smile. "Among the many things I thought I'd become over my years, a soccer mom was never one of them."

A soft chuckle escapes her and she grins. "What else did you think you'd become?" She asks in a wondering, almost nostalgic way.

"Well, a doctor…"

"Check."

"A wife…"

"Check times three."

"A mother…"

"Check times four."

"An author…"

"One check for risqué romance novel, another couple dozen checks for numerous journal publications."

I elbow her gently.

She flashes me her flawless smile.

"But you never imagined yourself sitting in the shade of a willow tree at a soccer field on a Sunday afternoon, watching your teenage son playing soccer, with your hand being held by your very own blonde bombshell?" She teases. I know she doesn't really consider herself to be a bombshell, but that doesn't mean I don't.

I laugh, shake my head, and respond. "Not at all, but especially not the blonde bombshell part." I tell her truthfully.

Kim leans in and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. "Well, I hope you're not too disappointed."

I kiss her back. "Not one bit."


	28. Outsides

**005: Outsides**

_October, 2017_

I enter the house, dropping my keys in the tray on the small table near the door and my purse on a nearby chair. The coat rack is empty save for a bright blue windbreaker that I recognize to be Eli's. Wondering if he's actually home or if he just chose to take a different jacket to school this morning, I walk to the kitchen. Surprisingly, when I arrive, I see him sitting at the kitchen table, bent over a notebook. He's still wearing a blue oxford shirt and khakis, his school uniform, but the tie around his neck has been loosened and sleeves rolled up. He's also not wearing his shoes, and I can't help but smile when I spot his green and blue striped socks. However, the smile is short-lived when I notice the visible tension in his shoulders and the tired way in which he is cradling his head.

"Hey," I say, placing my hand on his shoulder before taking a seat across from him, "Are you the only one home?"

He nods. "Mom brought Gwen to the ballet studio to watch Max's lesson and Henry is at some soccer thing. He said he asked Mom if he could go this morning."

I nod, now recalling the phone call Kim and I had shared this morning. She had called me from her seventh floor office, asking if I'd be able to go out for lunch with her. I had originally replied yes, but then Jerry had walked by let me know that Morris had called in sick earlier and that we'd therefore be down one attending. Before I had to hang up, she let me know the agenda for that afternoon as she was working from eight to three while I was on from six until four.

"And what are you working on?"

Once he's both heard and seen what I've said, he drops his eyes back to his paper. "French." He replies flatly, tiredly.

I look on and see that he is, in fact, doing a worksheet on French adjectives and adverbs. We remain silent for a while longer before I tap my fingers in front of him and make sure he sees me. "Are you okay?" I ask.

He stares at me with piercing blue eyes before replying. "I'm fine."

"Eli, please…don't lie to me." I tell my son. "Both Mom and I have noticed something is up. We just want to help you."

Eli stares at me for a moment, his hand tense around his number two pencil, then drops his gaze. "I hate school." He says finally, his voice soft and almost inaudible.

I get his attention and speak. "Did you have a bad day?"

He gives what would be a laugh if not for the wry expression on his face. "More like a bad month, Mom."

I had a feeling.

"Is it your teachers? Classes?" I ask. "Your classmates?"

He nods slowly. "I…It's just so different. I liked my old school. I was with all my friends, I didn't have to take stupid French every day or wear this stupid tie, we had art every day, and I wasn't the only…" he trails off and sighs, "There aren't any other deaf kids in my class or even the school, I bet. No one at my old school even cared; they all talked to me and helped me when I needed it and asked me to repeat something if they didn't understand what I said, but now I'm like…some freak. And the teachers don't even get it. They use the microphone but they still talk so fast and they never even try to face me and I just hate it. It makes me feel so stupid." He finishes. "I hate it, Mom. I really hate it."

This is what I was afraid of. From kindergarten through fifth grade, Max and Eli attended a small private school that is well-known for placing emphasis on each individual student's needs. For example, while Max and Eli are, of course, twins, Max was given extra help with reading but was placed in an advanced mathematics group, while Eli was able to use hearing assistive technology and complete his speech therapy during the school day while still excelling in both reading and 'the arts'. They both did extremely well, the point of testing at seventh and eighth grade levels at the end of their fifth grade year, but as it's only an elementary school, Kim and I were forced to go on the hunt for a middle school for them to attend this fall.

We searched high and low, looking at every type of school imaginable, from Montessori to Day Schools to Waldorf and even a few Christian schools. Of course, we also looked into public schools, but figured that the transition from elementary to middle school would be smoothest if they stayed within the realm of private schools. Finally, and almost ironically after so much searching, we settled on the small middle school that Henry attends, which has a focus on giving students a well-rounded, liberal arts education by utilizing interdisciplinary teaching. They both passed the entrance exam with flying colors and, despite the uniform and leaving many of their friends behind, they were excited to start the year once they got their acceptance letters.

Though we were mainly looking for a school that would fit both of their needs, we tried especially hard to find a middle school that would push Eli without leaving him to fend completely for himself. As a student with a severe hearing loss who doesn't use sign language, communication within the classroom is limited to utilizing what hearing he does have, lip reading when possible, and having his teachers use a small, attachable microphone that syncs to his hearing aids. Though these accommodations are seemingly simple, few private schools in the area are apparently unable to distinguish between hearing impaired and intellectually impaired, which lessened the schools we had to choose from. In the end, we chose to send them to Henry's school because of its challenging academics, not necessarily because they had some sort of an outstanding deaf and hard of hearing program, which they most certainly do not. When we presented out concerns to the head of admissions, he was quick to assure us that Eli would be given every opportunity possible, and that, for some reason, was enough for us. Looking back now, however, I can see that we may have made the wrong decision in bypassing his wellbeing in order to send our children to what seemed to be the best school.

I reach across the table and place my hand atop his. To my pleasure, he doesn't draw back. "First of all: you are not a freak, and you are not stupid. Okay? I don't want you to ever let anyone make you think that you are. There's a reason you were accepted into the Academy, you know." I remind him. He nods slowly in agreement. "I'm going to talk to Mom tonight, and then we'll call your school on Monday to set up a meeting with your teachers, alright? We'll try to figure something out…I don't think we're going to be able to do anything about French class or the uniforms, but we can try to work something out…"

He looks at me warily. "It's just not fair, Mom…" he says after a long moment, "Max has a lot of friends and she's good at her classes and she has ballet and everything…and I'm just…" he shrugs. "Just help me. I don't want to be on the outside anymore."

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and give his hand another squeeze before standing up and opening my arms to him. He obliges and embraces me; his head is almost even with mine save for an inch, and the lump I've just swallowed gets larger when I realize, for the first time in a while, just how much he has grown both inside and out.

"I'll do my best." I promise him once we've stepped back from each other.


	29. Fire

**052: Fire**

_November, 2017_

"Close your eyes…" Kerry orders, filling a spoon with the concoction she's been brewing.

I smile and do as I'm told, setting my pen down, shutting my eyes, and opening my mouth slightly in anticipation.

For a short moment I'm afraid she's just tricking me into standing there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot, but then I find my mouth filled with steaming chili. At once tears are forming in my eyes and my lips feel suddenly swollen, and after a moment my face is burning as if I'd spent an entire day out in the blistering sun.

"Too hot…" I whine once I've swallowed. "My lips are on fire…"

Kerry chuckles deeply and, with my eyes still closed, I can hear her placing something onto the granite countertop. Suddenly, I feel her breath, which is cool in contrast to my burning skin, on my face and then her soft lips against my own. "Better?" she asks softly, her words muffled by our kiss.

I open my eyes a bit and make a small smile against her mouth. "No, but you should keep trying…"

She smiles too and kisses me again, this time with a deeper fervor and passion. "How's that?" she asks.

I shake my head playfully and pull her closer, kissing her again and again, the fire from the chili replaced with an entirely new kind. I ask a little breathlessly if the stove is off and she nods, her hands making a move for the hem of my tee shirt. I quickly grab those hands and pull her towards the living room.

Hours later and far past dinner, we're lounging on the floor of the living room, the fireplace lit and the blankets from the chair and couch surrounding us. As we come down from a passion-induced high, I find silently wonder how I can repay my somewhat-brother-in-law-in-law, Eddie, and his wife; it takes a lot to take on four kids on top of the three you already have, and they deserve something fabulous for allowing us to take an evening to ourselves for the first time in what feels like years.


	30. Fixed

**072- Fixed**

_December, 2017_

I can't help but tap my fingers on the steering wheel of my car as I wait in front of Palmer Day School, the middle school for both hearing and hard of hearing children that Eli has been attending for the past week.

After we talked back in October about the trouble he had been having at his and Maxine's new school, I brought that information back to Kim and we came up with a game plan: we decided to schedule a meeting with his teachers to see what accommodations they could make, and then if we got no results or cooperation, we would search for a new school for him. Unfortunately, after the meeting, Kim and I were unanimous in deciding that the school was not, as we had originally thought, the right fit for Eli: their strict, classical curriculum left little room for his creativity, his teachers were unwilling to aid him in compensating for his hearing loss, and, overall, it was just not the learning environment we want for our son.

It was a difficult decision, taking him away from both his sister and brother, but after visiting Palmer, we knew we'd made the right decision; though there are about twice as many hearing students as there are deaf, they have a strong curriculum aimed at making sure all of their students excel. And, as an added bonus, Eli has been given an American Sign Language tutor so he can catch up with his peers, which I know will only help him in the long run.

Of course, it's in no way ideal to be paying ridiculous tuitions to three different schools- Henry and Maxine's, Eli's, and Gwen's-, all of which reside in different parts of the greater Chicago area, but Kim and I both agree that there's no point in working like maniacs if we can't give our children the best education available.

I now see kids streaming out of all exits, some heading for school busses and cars while others head home on foot. It takes a bit of searching, but after a moment I pick out Eli and his bright blue windbreaker. My heart warms and a smile finds a place on my lips when I see that he's walking with a boy and a girl and that they're all smiling. The girl is signing and speaking simultaneously while the boy is watching her intently, paying more attention to her hands than her mouth. I observe them until they're about twenty feet away then pull out my phone, pretending to be busy so he doesn't know I was watching.

When the door opens, I look up to see his bright smile. "Hi!" he exclaims, pulling his backpack off and placing it at his feet before climbing in.

His happiness is contagious and I grin back. "Hi to you, too." I respond.

"Guess what?" He asks excitedly as he pulls his seatbelt over his shoulder.

I shrug.

"Zoe just invited me to her birthday party!" he exclaims, pulling a red envelope from the depths of his bag. "It's on Sunday!"

I smile as he reads the invitation aloud: a pool party at twelve thirty on Sunday afternoon at the YMCA in Oak Park, which is, coincidentally, just a few minutes from our own Oak Park home. At the end, he adds: "And she said that her parents want you to come if you can 'cause you guys haven't met yet."

I smile. "Well good thing both Mom and I have Sunday off, then." I reply. We're quiet for a moment, before a question crosses my mind. "Is Zoe the girl you were just walking with?" I ask.

He nods. "My friend Taylor was with us, too."

"And are they both deaf?" I ask.

He nods. "Yep. Zoe's like me, but she signs really well because that was her first language. Taylor doesn't speak, but he signs really fast. Zoe's good at interpreting for him."

I smile.

I can hear the excitement in his voice when he continues speaking. "They're really nice, Mom."

"You really do like it here, don't you?" I question.

Through the corner of my eye I can see him looking at me and nodding, a smile still on his face. "I love it."

Those words and their authenticity make all of the work that was put towards him achieving this level of happiness, worth it.

Completely worth it.


	31. Friends

**021- Friends**

_January, 2018_

Two of the few smells that can actually bother me are chlorine and excessive sweat. Unfortunately, walking into the YMCA allows one to experience both simultaneously. I'm generally not put into a situation where I have to deal with either of these smells, as I prefer to run outside rather than at a gym and I avoid chlorine at all costs, but as Kerry has the flu and Zoe's parents specifically requested to meet one of us, I have been put to the task of bringing Eli to this birthday party.

"It's really hot in here…" he mutters, pulling his shirt away from his chest.

I nod; neither my hair nor Eli's hearing aids are going to agree with this humidity.

After a short walk we find ourselves at the edge of the pool, scanning our surroundings for any sign of a birthday party. Aren't there supposed to be balloons or something for these kinds of things? Suddenly, I hear a girl's voice shouting far too loud across the barely crowded room.

"Eli! Eli!"

I look to my left and see a short, fit girl with long black hair and beige colored skin wearing a blue and white striped bikini. Her smile is huge and she's waving at my son, clearly excited.

I assume this is Zoe and nudge Eli's shoulder, making sure he sees her.

"Hey!" He smiles, signing at the same time. It's still strange to see him signing but it's even stranger to see how much of a natural he is. It makes me regret not having him learn earlier. "Happy birthday!"

She smiles and hugs him quickly, an odd exchange between two teenagers of opposite sex if you ask me. I shrug it off and smile when she looks at me.

"Hi, I'm Zoe." she greets me with a smile, holding out her hand politely.

I'm impressed; I can remember very few instances where friends of any of my kids have shaken either mine or Kerry's hand.

"It's nice to meet you….I'm Dr. Legaspi." I respond, doing my best to sign at the same time.

"I'm happy you came; my mom and dad wanted to meet you and Dr. Weaver." She says, turning around and leading us towards a sitting area in a back corner.

Zoe leads Henry and I towards a set of chairs and taps an middle aged Asian woman on the shoulder. She signs a few things, only half of which I catch, then turns to me. "My mom's hard of hearing, but she's good at reading lips and speaks really well, so don't worry too much about signing." She says, yet again signing simultaneously. Now, she turns back to her mother. "This is Dr. Legaspi- Henry's mom." She signs.

The woman smiles and holds out her hand. "Ly Tran." She says with a distinct Deaf accent that is extremely similar to my own son's.

"Kim, please." I smile, shaking her extended hand.

"Okay, we're going now!" Zoe says, grabbing Eli's hand.

"Hey, don't forget about your-"

"- hearing aids. I know, Mom! Bye!" Eli replies, going towards the rest of his friends.

I chuckle and take an empty seat across from Ly. "Forgive me if this is rude, but I thought that Dr. Weaver was going to be coming today?" The woman asks.

I nod. "She was planning on it, but she's at home with the flu." I explain.

Ly nods sympathetically. "Well I hope she feels better."

I smile. "Thanks…me too."

She nods. "Is that common?" She asks.

I feel my eyebrows knit together.

She chuckles. "Because she works in a hospital?"

I chuckle, too, and shake my head. "No, no…Kerry and I've been together for about eleven years and she's only been sick for as many times as I can count on two hands." I reply with a smile. "I'm pretty sure she caught this bug from our youngest daughter Gwen, actually."

Ly smiles. "How old is she?"

"Five years old." I say and sign with a smile.

"Wow, two twelve year olds and a five year old?" She asks, wide-eyed.

I nod. "And an almost-15 year old."

At that, Ly laughs. "That must be a handful."

I smile. "It is, but I love it."

"Did you say you've been together for eleven years?" She questions, having obviously done a double take of what I previously said.

"Well, eleven years overall…" I say, wondering whether or not this woman really wants to hear our entire story. "But yeah, about eleven years."

She nods slowly, thinking. "But you have a fifteen year old son? And twelve year old twins?" She asks suspiciously.

Call me crazy, but I think I sense some malice in her voice. "That's right." I reply, less at ease than I previously was. "Henry is Kerry's son from a previous relationship, and the twins are mine from a previous relationship."

"Oh," she says sharply, "you're…divorced?" She asks.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think we're back in the 90s when zero states, as opposed to forty five, allowed gay marriage. The woman's clear, though maybe slight, homophobia is pissing me off. Nonetheless, I answer. "The twins' mother and I separated when they were two."

"And is she involved in their lives still?"

I bite my lower lip. "No…she passed away just after."

She looks confused for a moment but nods. "I didn't know that."

"How could you?" I ask rhetorically.

"And you said that Dr. Weaver was-"

I hold out my hand, signaling her to stop. "I'm sorry, but why does any of this matter?" I question. "I mean, it's your daughter's birthday party, not an interrogation."

She looks taken aback and for a moment I think she misunderstood me. I realize she heard me just fine, however, when she begins to speak. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, Dr. Legaspi. I'm just trying to get to know you better."

I laugh shortly and in a way that says I don't find it funny at all. "Well, I've never asked for someone's entire personal history when trying to get to know them."

"Well I apologize." She says. "It's just…just that…well, you and Dr. Weaver, you're…."

I wait patiently.

"Well, you're lesbians."

I wait for the second shoe to drop but it never does.

You've got to be kidding me.

"I'm aware of that." I reply.

"Right, and we, Matt and I, we're just not…well we haven't been around many lesbian people, and we just, well, wanted to-"

"Wanted to what? See that we're completely normal people?" I snap back.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I-"

"Not what you meant? I think it's exactly what you meant." I respond.

"I…I apologize. I was- I was out of line." She says, retreating.

I nod once. "I'd like to get to know you, but I don't appreciate being treated like some strange, mysterious, potentially dangerous creature."

She chuckles cautiously at this. "That sounds good to me…and I am sorry."

I smile and wave the off apology. "So, what do you do for work?"

* * *

><p>"So how was it?" Kerry asks when I walk in from where she's lying in our bed. She looks better than she did earlier, but her cheeks have yet to regain color and her eyes are still dull. Nonetheless, I am thrilled to see her.<p>

I take a seat on the side of the bed and kiss her warm forehead. "It was alright. Eli had a great time…it was great to see him interacting with people he actually feels comfortable around."

"That's good." Kerry responds, her voice weak. "Did you have a nice time?"

I pause to think carefully about my answer before I give it. After a moment, I nod a little unconvincingly.

She arches an eyebrow.

"No, it was a good time…I met Zoe's parents, Ly and Matt. Matt's very friendly…I mean, we didn't talk much, because he doesn't really talk at all, but he seems like a nice guy."

"And Ly?"

I sigh and tell Kerry about Ly giving me the third degree initially, demanding to know all about our history as a lesbian couple, but don't neglect the fact that we ended up chatting comfortably about our work, our children, Zoe and Eli's school, among other things.

"Well isn't she a winner…" Kerry scoffs.

I give a lopsided smile. "She's not bad. I wouldn't consider her a friend by any means, but she's the mother of our son's best friend, so she'll have to do."

Kerry nods slowly, tiredly. "I'm looking forward to meeting her…" she mutters almost intelligibly; I can tell she's giving into sleep's siren call.

I give her one last soft kiss and quietly excuse myself from our room.


	32. Star

**046: Star**

_March, 2018_

_(Kerry's POV)_

I'm walking by the upstairs bathroom when a gut wrenching sound penetrates my ears. I spin quickly on my heal and knock on the locked door. "Max? Is that you?" I call through the wood.

There's another heave, a moment of silence, then the flushing of a toilet and the sound of water hitting the porcelain sink. A few moments later, the lock clicks, the door's pulled open, and out comes a very pale looking Max.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" I ask, moving to put my hand to her forehead.

She holds her hand up to push mine away and nods. "I just got really nauseous…" she says.

"You're nervous, huh?" I ask.

She nods.

I certainly don't blame her; in about three hours she's going to be standing center stage in front of over one hundred people, performing the lead in her ballet class's routine at her studio's winter production. It's a lot to handle, and I'm pretty positive I'd deal with the stress in a similar fashion.

"I know you can do it, Max." I tell her. "And I'm pretty sure you know it, too."

The thirteen year old traps her lips between her teeth but nods. "I just don't want to mess up."

I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Worrying about that is perfectly normal, but you just have to do your best to stay calm and relaxed and then go out there and give it your all." I tell her, wondering in the back of my mind where in the hell I'm getting this performance-related wisdom.

"But what if I'm not good enough?" She asks quietly, her icy eyes meeting mine.

I give her a smile then wrap my arms around her. "You'll always be good enough."

* * *

><p>After the show I'm weaving haphazardly through the crowd, Eli, and Gwen all on my heel. I scan the dozens of girls in leotards, tutus, and tights until I spot my own, who is seemingly receiving congratulations from other spectators.<p>

"Mom!" Max exclaims when we approach, looking over the shoulder of the woman she's talking with.

I smile and hug her quickly, kissing her on the cheek. "You did fabulously."

She smiles proudly and accepts the flowers that Gwen has for her before redirecting her attention to the mystery woman. "Mom, this is Mrs. Lewis...she's from Ballet Chicago." She explains with bright eyes and a broad smile. "She's telling me about their summer program."

"Anything you don't already know?" I joke lightly, holding out my hand to Mrs. Lewis. "Kerry Weaver; it's nice to meet you."

The brunette shakes my hand and smiles. "Please, call me Maryanne." Turning back to Max, she continues talking. "Like your daughter said, I was just explaining the audition process of our program…but, from what I can see, you must already know quite a bit about it?"

Max chuckles nervously, nodding. "I've looked into it…I think it'd be an awesome experience."

Maryanne nods and extracts something from her purse. "It is and I really hope you seriously consider it, because you have a very, very good chance of being accepted." She hands Max a brochure and hands a business card to me. "Here's my email address and my number at the admissions office; the audition requirements and details about the program are all in the brochure, but if you or your instructor have any questions don't hesitate to give me a call; our program would really benefit from having a young dancer with this much talent." She says.

I imagine I'm hearing Max's heart beating out of her chest until I realize it's my own; we've been hearing about this program for months but haven't been sure as to whether or not she's quite ready for such a commitment. Sure, she's a natural dancer who has nothing but love for the art, but we feared that she wasn't ready for such an intense training program. However, now that a director from the program itself is clearly saying that she's ready for it, it feels as if it's my own dream that is coming true.

"Thank you…" I tell her, accepting the card and slipping it into the pocket of my jeans. "We'll have to talk about it with my wife, but I think we might be able to work something out."

At this, Maxine releases a little squeal high pitched enough for even Eli to hear. Quickly, she excuses her sudden outburst and looks down at her bare feet, embarrassed.

"That's quite alright," Maryanne says with chuckle at the thirteen year olds excitement. "I'm looking forward to hearing from you…" she says, then looks at Max once more. "You were a star out there, and I think you'd benefit very much from our program."

Max bites her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. "Thank you, thank you."

Maryanne nods and smiles before waving goodbye. Once the brunette is out of sight, I turn back to Max, who's finally allowed herself to express the sheer excitement she's so poorly concealing. "Mom…" she says, smiling and bouncing up and down.

I nod and put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll talk to your mother tonight." I tell her.

She grins and hugs me quickly; we both know that the answer's going to be yes.


	33. Lunch

**057- Lunch**

_June, 2018_

"Dr. Legaspi?"

I suppress a groan when I hear the floor's desk clerk- Sam or Sara or Susan or something- call my name. Nonetheless, I turn around and plaster on my best, fake smile. "Hm?"

"Dr. Weaver called up while you were in with that schizophrenic kid." She says, looking at a post it. "She says she wants to see you in her office during your lunch break."

I'm wearing a real smile now. "Thanks-" I look at her name tag, "Skye."

The young woman grins and I continue towards the elevators.

* * *

><p>"No, no, no! Do not give me those kinds of excuses; this meeting has been scheduled for—no, I will not resched—okay, good, that's what I thought—yep, I'll see you at four. Okay, bye."<p>

"That's never not sexy." I tell Kerry once she's hung up the phone.

"Even when it's someone from your department on the other end?" She asks, leaning back in her leather chair.

I shrug and take a seat on the edge of her desk. "Sexy is sexy." I tell her, smiling.

She smiles tiredly. "Do you have time for lunch?" She asks.

I grin. "I was hoping that's why you called me down here." I say, standing up and holding my hand out to her.

* * *

><p>"I'm thinking about resigning."<p>

At this, I laugh.

Unfortunately, Kerry's not kidding.

"You're what?"

The redhead sighs. "I don't like my job anymore, Kim…fighting and arguing with people all day, being stuck in my office for hours at a time…it's not who I am."

I stare at her. "It's who you've been for the past, what, sixteen years? And now that's not who you are?" I say, an unknown anger bubbling up inside of me. "How does that work?"

"Because it's what I had to do, Kim, not because I've taken immense enjoyment from it." She says calmly. "Now that the twins and Henry are older and Gwen's as independent as ever, I don't think a nine-to-five job is as necessary as it used to be. I mean, it offered a nice, stable schedule when we were raising three elementary schoolers and a toddler, but I don't think they'd be phased one bit if, instead of being home every night for dinner, I worked a couple shifts a week and was able to make it to their recitals and games and school events. Who knows, they may like it more."

My eyes are narrowed and my eyebrows are furrowed but I don't care. "Okay, but Ker, you can't base your job purely off of what is good for our children. That's a big part, yes, but it's also about what's good for you and good for us and-"

"And good for our bank account?" Kerry fires back icily.

I fall silent and count to ten in my head. "Is there even a position open?" I finally ask.

At this, Kerry nods slowly. "The ER needs a part time attending…someone to run the floor when they're down senior attendings." She says quietly.

"Oh." Is all I can manage.

"I've dedicated more than twenty years of my life to this place, Kim, and for the most part I've enjoyed it, but I'm reaching a point in my career, in my life, where I'm done with devoting every ounce of my energy to trying to keep a poorly funded, inner city hospital from crumbling to the ground." She fiddles with the straw that's sticking out of her glass. "It used to be the type of thing where I'd go home after a day of board meetings and budget negations and conference calls and still have energy to run Max and Gwen to dance, to catch the end of Henry's soccer games, to help Eli with his homework, and to make dinner, but now…" she pauses, searching for the right words, "But now I hardly have enough energy to make it through the work day. I'm burnt out."

Any chance of me arguing with her has been depleted by the fact that every single thing she has said rings one hundred percent true.

I feel like beating myself up for not realizing it sooner.

"I…I'm sorry, Ker." I apologize. "I had no idea…"

She smiles softly and pats my hand before pulling a manila folder from her bag. "These are the details about the financial aspect of the job. I definitely won't be earning three grand anymore but by no means are we going to be in any trouble…"

* * *

><p>I let go of Kerry's hand when the elevator says we've reached the seventh floor. "I'll see you tonight." I say, leaning in for a kiss.<p>

"Love you." She kisses me back.

"I love you too." I say, stepping out of the elevator. I begin to turn towards my office when a thought strikes me. "Hey, Ker?" I ask, turning back.

"Hm?"

"Do you think we could talk about a possible raise before you go to talk to the board about stepping down?" I ask, only partially kidding.

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "I'll see you later."

I guess that'd be a 'no.'


	34. Green

**014- Green**

_September, 2018_

"Mommy?"

"Hm?" I don't look towards the door, focusing on making mine and Kim's bed instead; it's about seven thirty a.m. and, as it's the first day of school, we're on a tight schedule.

"Do you like this outfit?"

I look up to see Gwen standing in the doorway of mine and Kim's bedroom, dressed in what many might consider to be a costume. Unfortunately, Gwen's not looking for a costume; she's looking for an outfit to wear on her first day as a first grader.

Why can't all schools have uniforms? I mean, individuality is a great thing, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier if all of my children's schools, not just Max and Henry's, utilized the idea of simplicity.

"How about we go take a look around your closet?" I suggest, abandoning the half-made bed and leading her back to her open closet.

Once we get there, she turns and looks at me sternly, her hands on her hips as if she's a miniature Maxine.

"Momma said I could pick." She says flatly.

I give her a sweet smile and glance at her outfit again; a pink tutu, blue leggings, and a green t-shirt. "Well it's a little too chilly for that…let's see what we can come up with, okay?" I offer.

She shrugs grudgingly and I look into her overflowing closet.

"How about this one?" I ask, picking up a cream colored skirt made of heavy lace.

She wrinkles her freckled nose; that'd be a no.

"This one?" I ask, pointing to a brown corduroy skirt.

She shakes her head.

I point to another two skirts and a dress, both of which she turns down. Knowing that the clock is ticking, I grab another skirt and two dresses and lay them on her bed. "Pick one." I tell her.

She narrows her eyebrows at me but obliges, stalking over to the bed and studying each one individually as if she'd never seen them before in her life. Finally, she puts her hand on the middle one; a navy blue cotton dress covered in green, pink, and white flowers. "I like this one."

"That's a very pretty dress…" I tell her. Quickly realizing I should take advantage of her compliancy while it lasts, I grab the green sweater that matches it. "And how about this?" I ask.

She gives it a surveying look, studying it with narrowed eyes before nodding. "I like it."

As the six year old exchanges her preferred outfit for this one, I think about how, just over six years ago, I was holding this little bundle of energy for the first time. At the time, I would never have imagined she'd turn into the beautiful, intelligent, sometimes testy girl she is today. Hell, I didn't even think she'd look like she does; her eyes were almost totally green and her hair was thin and spiky then, and I remember Kim swearing she looked more like me than she did herself. That was, of course, scientifically illogical, but I did appreciate the thought. However, as time went on they slowly faded to a blue-green, hazel color just as hair morphed into the thick, soft curls. It's not that I particularly care that she resembles Kim more so than she does myself—any intelligent person would be able to figure out just by looking at me that I'm not the biological mother of a six year old—and what she looks like doesn't much matter at all, but I have to admit that I did enjoy those six or so months of sharing that connection.

"Ta-da!" Gwen exclaims suddenly, breaking out of my thoughts. She's holding her arms out wide and is smiling brightly.

"You look gorgeous, my dear." I tell her, "Now let's do something with your hair, shall we?"

She nods and skips towards her dresser. There, she grabs two hair elastics and a comb. "Braids please."

I smile and do as requested, parting her waist-length hair down the middle and pulling it into two French plaits. When I'm done, I pat her shoulder and grab her purple backpack from the floor nearby. "Ready for some breakfast?" I question.

She nods excitedly and fastens the too-big backpack onto her back before skipping out of her room, down the hall and the stairs, and into the kitchen.

I can only chuckle to myself and follow.


	35. Christmas

**092: Christmas**

_December, 2018_

A pair of soft lips pressing against my temple makes my eyes flicker open and the corners of my mouth turn upward in a small, faint smile.

"Merry Christmas…" Kim murmurs, the flow of her warm breath against my cheek varying with each and every syllable.

I turn over and blink slowly, smiling. "Merry Christmas." I respond.

"Should we wait?"

"For what?"

"For tonight…" She says, nipping at my ear.

I glance at the alarm clock, squinting until the numbers are clear; five o' six a.m.

"We've got time." I whisper, my lips on her cheek.

She grins and plants soft kisses down my neck as she rolls seamlessly so she is laying over me. Her kisses continue in a downwards direction and she pushes my shirt over my head, my bare chest now at the disposal of her lips.

She doesn't stop there, though, and her free hand is soon over my mouth in attempt to stop me from awakening the kids while her other one finishes its ministrations.

There's just enough time to for me to come down from my post-climax haze and for the pair of us to put clothes on before our bedroom door is thrown open. All at once, Eli, Max, and Gwen are surrounding our bed and pulling us to our feet.

"Let's go, Mommy! Santa came!" Gwen says, tugging on my hand.

I nod tiredly. "Okay, okay…go wake up Henry first." I tell her.

She nods excitedly and bounces out of our room and down the hall. The twins follow quietly, and in a few minutes, we're all downstairs around the Christmas tree.

"Can we open them?" Gwen asks. The redhead is sitting a mere foot away from a medium sized box with her name on it.

I shake my head. "Not until Momma's back."

She huffs and bounces on her knees impatiently. After a moment, Kim's back in the living room, hands me a cup of coffee, and sits down on the couch next to me.

"Now can we start?" Gwen rephrases her question.

I nod and open my hands. "Have at it." I tell her.

She grins and begins tearing at wrapping paper fiercely. I can't help but laugh at her delighted expression and the squeal that escapes her throat when she sees the picture on the box. Right away, she jumps up and gives Kim and I hugs before sitting back down with the Easy-Bake Oven on her lap.

Next, Eli, as he's technically the second youngest, grabs a small box that his name on it. He unwraps it quickly and grins almost as broadly as his little sister. With careful hands, he pulls out a thin iPod touch and examines it.

"Why does he get a new iPod?" Max exclaims before Eli even has a chance to express his own feelings about the gift. "He's deaf!"

I give the blonde a warning look, but it's Eli who speaks, "Because that's what I put on my Christmas list, Max, and you already have one." He tells her. "Besides, I can hear the music and you know it."

I suppress a proud smile and simply nod in support of his answer.

The blonde relents, muttering some sort of an apology, then grabs her own box from under the tree as Eli thanks both Kim and I. Her jealous, foul attitude is replaced by a whole lot of gratitude when she sees the label on the box of her new digital camera. Again, a round of 'thank-you's' and hugs ensues before Henry takes his turn. The fifteen year old opens his new, $175 cleats—yes, one hundred and seventy five dollar cleats and thanks us, then a whole new round of present-opening begins.

We go on and on with this system until each and every present has been opened and a massive pile of wrapping paper, gift bags, ribbons, and tissue paper sits in the corner of the living room. I'm about to stand up and head for the kitchen when Henry's voice stops me.

"Mom, wait," he says, handing both Kim and I our own boxes. "These are from us. And by 'us', I mean we picked them out and wrapped them by ourselves. Well Mitch helped, but still; they're mostly from us."

I take the 8x11 box and glance at Kim, who looks just as confused as I feel. Slowly, we tear off the colorful paper and open the cardboard boxes. After another layer of wrapping is opened, we pull out identical picture frames. My heart catches in my throat when I see the picture inside mine, but when I see the picture in Kim's, I can't help but let out a small sob-like noise that quickly turns into a laugh.

"Mitch took the pictures, but we picked out which ones we wanted and then he brought us to buy the frames and stuff." Henry explains. "Do you like them?"

I take a closer look at the frame I hold in my hands: black and white, it's a picture of our three children with huge smiles on their faces. I can clearly tell it's candid, by the facts that they're all smiling and aren't looking at the camera, and from the background I can tell that it was taken last August at Kim's family's lake house in Wisconsin. I can also tell that it hasn't been retouched, as the faint bruise surrounding four year old Gwen's eye, which she acquired by running straight into a low hanging branch within minutes of our arrival, is quite visible.

The second one is black and white as well, but is a close up of Kim and I. Looking at it, I can remember the exact moment it was taken: it was Spring two years ago when Kim and myself, Jack and Jess, and Mitchell and his then-girlfriend Anna stayed at a small, though luxurious, inn on the Illinois/Wisconsin border for a weekend. The quaint bed & breakfast was extremely overpriced, but the fact that they had an extensive wine cellar, a wonderful spa, and a great chef made up for it. This particular photo was taken on our first night there during dinner. Kim had straightened her hair that day, and her blonde locks frame her face perfectly. We're both laughing, which is made obvious by the defined lines on my face and the familiar twinkle in Kim's eye, and Kim's arm is resting naturally around my shoulders. Even though I don't particularly enjoy having my picture taken or seeing pictures of myself, I have to admit that this is an amazing photo.

"So…do you like them?" Henry repeats.

I glance first at my wife, who's wearing a large smile, and then at our eldest son, who is looking at us hopefully. I'm about to respond when Kim speaks first.

"They're fantastic, you guys. Thank you."

Four faces smile proudly, and for a second I find myself wishing Mitchell was here with his camera to snap a shot of the moment. Then I realize that this instant and this Christmas will forever be remembered by these two photos, and I'm more than content to simply take part in one last round of hugs.


	36. Why?

**080- Why?**

_February, 2019_

"Ker?"

"Hm?"

"Do our kids ever scare you?"

"What do you mean? Like Gwen's tantrums? 'Cause by now I think we know she's all bark, no bite…"

"No, I mean when you think about the fact that Henry just turned sixteen…that Maxine is well on her way to becoming a prima ballerina…and that our fourteen year old son is almost as tall as I am."

"Well when you put it that way…"

"I'm serious, Kerry…I feel like they were so young and innocent, then I blinked, and now they're all grown up."

"We do still have that six year old, you know."

"She's six going on sixteen."

"Touché."

"But don't you ever feel that way? I mean, Henry's going to get his license then before we know it he's going to be in college, getting married…we're going to be grandmothers, Ker. And then the twins…you know, Eli lost his hearing just about ten years ago, and now he's a teenager who not only speaks English as well, if not better than any other thirteen year old, but he's also fluent in ASL and makes getting by in the hearing world look seamless. I…it's just so, so—"

"Scary?"

"Yeah."

"I think, more than anything, it's exciting…you know, back in between mine and Sandy's first try and Henry, I spent a lot of time asking myself why I wanted to be a mother. Sandy had said something about her reluctance to carry making her less of a woman in my eyes or something of that nature, and I started to think that maybe I only wanted to be a mother because I felt like I had to, you know?"

"Mhm…"

"Well, I thought and thought and thought, and I was really beginning to doubt myself and my reasons for wanting to be a mom, until I had this patient. She was the cutest little girl I'd ever seen, and she was really bright. I mean, exceptionally bright. She was probably four or five, and she kept asking me all sorts of questions about my disability. They weren't those obnoxious, what-is-wrong-with-you questions, though; she was genuinely curious, but in the politest way possible. I swear, she had more tact than some adults I've come across, and she was only a little girl! When I met her parents, I knew exactly why she was the way she was; they were so calm and even headed and genuine. That night, I realized one of the reasons why it had been so important to me to have kids; I really wanted to raise children who can see the world a little differently, kids who can change the world, even if it's in a small way."

"You think they can do that?"

"Definitely…I know all parents are proud of their kids, but I think we have exceptional reason to be; They're smart, they all have their own interests and hobbies, they're all passionate and hardworking, and most of all, they all have good moral compasses. I don't know if it's because they have if it's because they have doctors for mothers or—"

"—or because they have liberal-thinking lesbians for mothers?"

"—but they all understand right and wrong, they're grateful for what they have and what they're able to do, and they value diversity."

"Yeah…"

"And that makes me excited."

"Well when you say it like that…"

"Exciting right?"

"I guess it really is."

* * *

><p>Sorry about not updating for a while...I've been incredibly busy with school. I'll try to stay on top of it! And thanks for your reviews in the meantime!<p> 


	37. Club

**049- Club**

_April, 2019_

"How would you feel about a change of plans?" Kim asks me , entering our bedroom and flashing me the most endearing of smiles, making me feel completely suspicious.

Nonetheless, I raise an eyebrow. "What kind of change?"

She makes her eyebrows jump suggestively. "Put these on," she holds out a brown shopping bag, "meet me downstairs, and then I'll tell you."

With that, she turns around and closes our bedroom door behind her.

The original plan for this evening was for us to go out on a dinner date, something we try to do once a month, while the kids stay at home. We weren't able to go out together last month due to a number of things and I'm kind of disappointed that she's suggesting we bypass going out to dinner…

I shake away my feelings and take a look inside the bag. I'm frowning at first, but once I pull the contents out and examine them, things begin making sense and I'm smiling like a loon.

There's only one place that this top would be socially acceptable, and within ten minutes I've replaced my sweater with it along with my black pants for crisp, dark jeans.

My heart's beating a little faster as I walk down the stairs, the kitten heels of my shoes clicking rhythmically against the hardwood.

"Wow, Ker…"

I give her a wry smile. "You do know I'm 53, right?"

She rolls her eyes and hands me my coat. "I do, but I doubt anyone else will think you're a day past forty."

I only shake my head before going to the kitchen to say a quick goodbye to the kids, who are pretending to be working diligently on their homework. "It's Friday night you guys…" Kim tells them, letting them know that we're well aware of the act they're putting on. "Play a board game or watch a movie or something."

"But nothing over PG and try not to make a mess out of the living room." I add.

Henry closes his thick US history book, piles a notebook and pen on top of it, then stands up and stretches. Eli and Max follow suit by closing their own notebooks, and Gwen closes her coloring book with a dramatic slap.

I stifle a laugh and follow Kim back towards the door, waving over my shoulder. "See you guys later…"

"Uh…don't wait up, actually!" Kim corrects, giving me another sly smile. "We'll see you guys tomorrow morning."

I hear Maxine giggle as I pull the front door open.

* * *

><p>The booming house music shakes me so far to the core that I swear I can feel my most inner organs rattling to the beat. It's incredibly loud in here. For a moment I consider the damage this noise could potentially inflict on my perfect hearing, but Kim's hands on my hips and breath on my cheek distracts me from the thought.<p>

"You're so beautiful…" she whispers, her voice dripping with seduction.

I run my hand up and down her back softly and tease her with a few, fleeting touches on her own hips.

She lets out a shaky breath against my cheek in response.

I know how tonight's going to end, and it makes me very, very happy.

I was slightly wary upon our arrival, nervous butterflies swarming in my stomach. Kim jokingly accused my long-lost internal homophobia of resurfacing slightly, but I think we both know that my nervousness had more to do with the fact that I was entering a club for the first time in at least ten years than with the fact that it was a lesbian club. The moment we were inside, I wanted to turn right around; the music was loud, the lights were flashing, and the women looked like twenty year old super models. However, Kim maintained a firm hold on my hand and pulled me to an empty table before ordering a martini for each of us.

Now, after drinking said martinis and a taking part in a bit of juvenile flirting, we're on the dance floor and in each other's arms.

"What time is it?" She asks softly.

I squint at my watch. "Almost one."

"Do you want to-"

I don't wait for her to finish her question before I nod, grab her hand, and pull her from the dance floor.

Within forty five minutes, most of which were agonizingly spent trying not to jump each other on the El, we're creeping through our sleeping home towards our bedroom.

"I haven't felt that stealthy since I was in high school…" Kim says, stepping out of her pants at a leisurely pace.

I ignore the comment and pounce, my hands grasping her face and pressing my lips against hers as I guide her backwards and onto our bed until I'm on my knees, hovering above her.

We're like this for what seems like forever, tongues exploring mouths and hands pulling at clothing until we're both thoroughly aroused and buck naked. I plan on going in for the kill when Kim suddenly takes control, flipping me onto my back slides down my body until her blonde curls are spread haphazardly across my thighs.

I hold my hand against my mouth, suppressing a scream that accompanies my long awaited release.

"We've never had that good of sex after going out for dinner." Kim says sleepily.

I chuckle. "Well I don't think I can handle going to the club every month."

She brings my hand to her mouth and kisses my palm sweetly. "Can you handle having sex like that every month?" She asks, her tone both serious and humorous in a way that only she can achieve.

"I'm getting old you know…" I tease.

I can almost hear her roll her eyes at the tired joke.

"But I'll see what I can do."


	38. Water

**051: Water**

_August, 2019_

"Henry! Henry, stop!" Maxine screeches, giggling uncontrollably. "Please!"

My sixteen year old son is chasing his younger sister across the backyard, his hands clutching a hose as he attempts to spray her. Anyone who heard the laughter and joy in Max's voice would know that she doesn't really want him to stop, so the chase continues.

"Stay away from your brother!" Kerry calls out from where she's sitting in the Adirondack chair next to mine. "If they get those hearing aids wet…" she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

I give her a small smile and pat her hand, then look back at the kids darting around the backyard of the lake house. Gwen has now joined the chase, and her long legs are carrying her as fast as they can away from her eldest brother. Max screams again as Henry hits her with the cold spray and she and Gwen sprint even faster, moving as far away from him as possible.

"Ha!" Max exclaims from behind a large tree where she's far out of reach, "You can't get us here, can you?"

Henry makes a kink in the hose to stop the water flow and stays stationary with his eyes trained on his sisters and brother who, unbeknownst to the girls, is approaching them from behind. Henry's tanned face twists in an attempt not to smile as he watches intently.

"What are you smiling at?" Max asks, narrowing her blue eyes, "You can't even get us from there!"

Henry shrugs but his smile grows.

I smile, too, and glance at Kerry. She has a sly grin on her face as well.

Suddenly, Henry signs a few, quick words in the girls' general direction, more specifically towards Eli, who is slowly approaching them with what looks like a bucket full of water.

I'll never, ever regret making sure that our three other children learned ASL as well. Not only does it give them a leg up on communication with Eli, another foreign language under their belt, and an opened door to a whole community and culture, but it also allows them to communicate seamlessly, and sometimes secretly, with each other. It provides a sort of bond between them and, in this instance, is extremely helpful. Well, at least for Henry and Eli.

"One more second until what?" Max asks. "Why are you signing?" She questions before spinning around quickly, a connection having obviously been made in her head.

At that moment, a shrill scream escapes both Max and Gwen's throats as Eli dumps the large pale of water on them.

"Eli!" Gwen screeches, giggling and running towards Henry who, naturally, begins spraying his youngest sister mercilessly. "Henry!" She exclaims between laughs, "Stop!"

The teenager slows down and releases the hose. "Okay, okay…" he says a little breathlessly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Truce?" He asks, looking first at Gwen and then at Max.

My eldest daughter nods rapidly before throwing herself dramatically on the grass with a loud groan. As expected, Gwen follows in the theatrical act and joins her sister on the wet grass.

_You're horrible_. Max signs, glaring at her brothers.

Henry smiles innocently and Eli shrugs. "It's just water." He tells her.

Max rolls her eyes, attempting to stay angry, but is soon giggling. After a moment, she's in full fledged hysterics and within seconds both Henry and Gwen have joined in.

"What's so funny?" Eli asks, looking at me with a confused expression.

I shrug and smile; _I have no idea._


	39. Thanksgiving

**093: Thanksgiving**

_November, 2019_

"Alright boys and girls, we're going to do a special project today." I call across my combined classroom, pulling a silence over the six and seven year olds. They all look up, eagerly awaiting their next instructions.

"Now, who knows what holiday is coming up?" I begin.

A couple of hands shoot up, and pick on Zack, a small African American boy with the biggest, most adorable brown eyes I've ever seen.

"Thanksgiving!" He tells us.

I nod, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Zack's right, Thanksgiving is on Thursday. Now, who knows what Thanksgiving is about?"

Fewer hands go up this time, and I first pick on Mia, who replies with the single word 'turkey', then Graham, who says 'pilgrims and Indians', and then Alec who says 'football and the parade.' I nod in agreement with all of them, then look around the room and ask if anyone else knows what Thanksgiving is about. When no hands are raised, I begin telling them about how Thanksgiving is about being thankful for what we have. I give them the short, fairy-tale explanation of how the Native Americans were thankful for the help and companionship of the pilgrims and vice-versa, leaving out the parts about the pilgrims slaughtering said Native Americans and mercilessly stealing their land. At the end of my story, I present the craft they're going to be working on.

"Now we're all going to pick something we're thankful for and we're going to write it on this turkey," I say, holding up a few of the paper turkeys I cut out last night while I was watching The Bachelorette. "And then we're going to take them home so they can remind us about what we're thankful for. But, before you write it on your turkey, I want you to bring the paper up to me so I can check your spelling." I finish explaining. "Any questions?" Seventeen heads shake and I begin to pass out the paper turkeys and packs of Crayola Magic Markers.

I let them work in moderate silence for a few minutes, waiting patiently until a line forms at my desk. First up to be checked is Caroline, whose paper says that she is thankful for her puppy, Charlie, who she got for her birthday last week. Everything is written clearly and accurately, and I make a checkmark on the upper left hand corner with my purple pen. After that I see eleven more students, most of whom are all thankful for things like their favorite toy or pet or friend, before Gwen Legaspi-Weaver approaches my desk. She greets me with a smile, of which the front two teeth are missing, and places her paper in my hands. It reads:

_"I am thankful for my family because I love them and they love me. I love Mommy and Mama a lot they always take care of me and my sister and my brothers because they are doctors and they love us a lot. I love my sister Max a lot because she is really funny and silly. I love my brother Eli because he is a good at drawing and is nice and makes good grilled cheeses. I love Henry to because he is the biggest and is never mean to me. I am thankful for my family because I love them."_

I have a small smile on my face by the time I've finished it. I put a nice, big checkmark in the corner and hand it back to her. "Nice job, Gwen. I'm sure your family will love it." I tell her.

She smiles again, her freckled cheeks dimpling.

As I correct the other four students' papers I feel my own sense of thankfulness towards Doctors Legaspi and Weaver; they've obviously done a brilliant job raising Gwen and have instilled both a strong sense of family and gratefulness on her, and all of that makes my job as a teacher that much more pleasant.


	40. Triangle

_January, 2020_

Alone time with any one member of my family comes few and far between. Granted, I spend anywhere from four to eight hours with Kim almost every night, but more times than not, we're dead to the world. And then there are the hours I spend each week carting each of the kids to their particular rehearsals, lessons, practices, and games, but fifteen or thirty minutes in Chicago traffic hardly make for good conversation.

Tonight, however, I am driving two hours from Glendale, Wisconsin with Henry after spending the day at his indoor soccer tournament. His club won only one of their five games, yet he seems hardly affected by it. He's exhausted, yes, but he doesn't seem overly upset.

"Do you want to drive once we get back into Illinois?" I offer, piercing the silence. He's been working on getting his license for a couple months, and he only needs a few hours of supervised driving left until he can take the written exam.

The teenager shrugs. "Not tonight...but thanks."

Or maybe he is upset…

"You know, it's only one tournament, Hen…"

He nods and sighs. Sadly, he says, "I know, but it just…it's not…it just kind of blows. I played so horribly…"

I remain silent for a long moment, considering what he's said—though, in my eyes, he will always be the most amazing soccer player in the world, I have no choice but to agree with him: he was completely off his game today. He knows it, his coaches and teammates know it, and I know it. Of course, I do not blame him alone for his team's loss, but I don't believe in falsely convincing him that he did well. As a general rule, I don't praise mediocrity.

"You just had a rough day…the entire team did, I think."

He responds with an affirming 'mhm.'

"But you know one thing you did better than anyone else on that team?" I ask.

"What?"

"You held your head high. Really high. I know a lot of you—probably all of you—were really pissed when you stepped off that field, and a lot of the guys showed it; I saw AJ nearly lose it on his dad. But you kept your head on. You had a bad day, but you haven't let it affect you. It really shows your maturity. Your mom would be so proud of you."

"Why would Mom be proud? She's seen me lose before…" he replies with a shadow of a laugh in his voice.

"I meant Sandy."

"You think she would be?" He asks doubtfully.

"Of course she would be, Henry…she'd be so happy to know that you're not only a fantastic athlete, but a gracious sportsman as well."

I can see his smile flashing beneath the fluorescent streetlight.

"Do you still miss her a lot?" Henry questions, his voice quieter than before.

I'm silent for a long while, thinking about the response I'm going to give. When the kids were younger, it was simpler to explain my feelings for Kim, for Sandy, and how those two relationships intertwine. It's simpler to say that I love them equally, but in different ways and, when the kids were less mature, that normally sufficed. I don't really know what to say…it's not that it's emotionally difficult to talk about Sandy—it has, after all, been nearly sixteen years since her death—it's just hard to say the right things.

"I do." I tell him at last. It's not much of a response, but it's something.

"And you still love her a lot, right?"

"Of course I do…I always will."

"Do you wish she were still alive?"

I don't what to say.

Over the past sixteen years that question has made its way into my head on numerous occasions. Naturally, when Sandy first died, the answer was a 100% yes. Upon first getting back together with Kim, I was very back-and-forth with it; sometimes I could focus only on our new relationship, which always led to feelings of severe guilt when I realized that I'd not thought about Sandy, which then led to me wishing Sandy had never left me. It was like a morbidly complicated love triangle. As the years have gone on, however, I've learned to make peace with it all: I will always feel the light tug of my love for Sandy, but the triangle has otherwise abated.

Though at this moment I'm not entirely sure how to put that into words that will make sense to my son.

"It's hard to explain, Hen…I wish more than anything that you could know her, that she could see the amazing young man you've become, and I wish we never lost her, but at the same time I love Mom, the twins, and Gwen very much, and wouldn't trade our family, or our life together, for anything."

He nods slowly. "So you do, but you don't?" He summarizes.

I nod. "I do, but I don't."

And that's exactly it: I do miss Sandy, I do wish she'd never died, and I do wish my son could have been raised by his biological mother, but I don't wish I had never gotten back together with Kim, I don't wish I didn't have the twins or Gwen, and I don't wish the last ten plus years had never happened.


	41. He

_April, 2020_

"Mom! Mom, look!"

I look up and watch as Gwen hooks the back of her legs onto one of the monkeybars before letting the rest of her body hang down. Internally, I cringe, but on the outside I attempt to smile and show her a thumbs-up.

This girl and her dare-devil tendencies are the main reason I'm beginning to go grey, I think.

"The first time my son tried that we ended up in the emergency room." A male's voice chimes in.

There's a clear arrogance to his tone, and I glance in his direction briefly, not daring to take my eyes away from my seven year old monkey and not really wanting to engage myself in any small talk. I have a few clever comebacks in mind, but manage to settle on a mediocre one. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm a doctor."

"Are you really?"

I nod.

He laughs shortly.

"Well I guess it won't bode well for my reputation if I tell you I am, as well."

I chuckle at this; the comment was self-deprecating, making him more likeable. Still, I'm not really here to make friends; I picked Gwen up after school and now we're waiting to meet Kerry in town after her shift. Unfortunately, my wife called about five minutes ago to say she's running about fifteen minutes late, and I'd much rather spend my time waiting at the park rather than at County; work is the last place I want to be on my day off.

I guess a little small talk won't kill me.

"Was he okay?"

"What?" The man asks, "Oh, right, my son. He just needed a few stitches. I think I was more upset than he was.

"My youngest son, Eli, fell down the steps in front of our house when he was three. He only had to have a few stitches as well, but his mother—who is also a doctor—and I were a complete mess." I tell him with a chuckle.

He laughs warmly and turns toward me, his hand extended. "Ellis West."

I study his face as I shake his hand. "Kim Legaspi." I respond.

Ellis West…the name is familiar, but the face isn't. I suppose that's what happens within the medical community. He has thick gray hair, grey eyes, and a long, albeit attractive face. He's probably in his late fifties, but then again I've never been very good at guessing people's ages.

"You said you're a doctor?"

I nod; does this man suck at small talk or does he have a memory problem?

"Where do you work?"

"County General—"

"County? Really?"

I nod again.

He laughs ironically. "I worked there briefly in the 90s. Which department are you in?"

"Psych." I tell him. "The nineties? That's interesting…my wife has been there since about…well, about '95 I guess."

He has a curious, surprised look on his face. "Someone has actually lasted twenty five years in that shithole?" He says before putting his hand up in defense. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

I wave him off. "Don't worry about it…I've often wondered how she's done it." I reassure him, silently adding that his description of my workplace is as accurate as any. "Where do you work now?"

This man, Dr. West, goes on to tell me that he's currently not working as a result of him wanting to spend more time with his kids and some 'small legal disputes.'

Well that's uncomfortable.

I steer the conversation away from the latter part of his reasoning. "How old are they?"

A proud, paternal smile finds a place on his mouth. "Leila is ten and Aidan is seven."

I smile. "I wanted to name our youngest Aidan." I tell him.

"Why didn't you?"

"Well he turned out to be a she. We thought Gwen was more appropriate." I say, pointing out the redhead who is now climbing up the slide.

"Gwen and Eli…" He repeats.

"And Henry and Maxine."

"Four?"

"Yep. Ages seven, fifteen, fifteen, and seventeen."

"Wow."

"We get the response a lot."

He stifles a laugh. "Sorry…that's just…"

"Quite the age difference? A lot to handle?"

He nods.

"It is, but we love it."

He smiles and a silence falls over us as we watch our children. Well, I actually don't know which of these boys is his son, but I keep a careful eye trained on Gwen.

A few minutes have passed when I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I'm startled at first even though I have a pretty good idea of whose it is, and my small, jerky jump startles Ellis as well.

"Hey, hon—"

"K—Kerry?"

"Ellis?"

"You two—wait a se—what?"

I suddenly feel very, very confused, but when I look at Ellis' face, I realize that it's nothing compared to what he must be feeling.

Ellis West.

County General.

The nineties.

I look at Kerry then back at Ellis.

Oh my god.

Ellis West.

"Ellis…it's…been a while." Kerry says at last.

The gray haired doctor is standing now, and he holds out his hand with visible hesitation. "Nice to see you too, Kerry." He replies before looking back and forth between us. "I—so you're…uh…" he searches for the appropriate wording.

"Lesbians? Yes." She says with a quiet strength and a true pride. I smile a little. "This is my wife, Dr. Kimberly Legaspi."

"We've been bonding over our acrobatic children, actually." I say lightly, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn't work.

"Children?" Kerry asks suspiciously.

"Yes...a girl and a boy." Ellis replies. There's a bit of defensiveness in his voice.

Oh boy.

"And you're married?" She asks.

Oh, Kerry…

I'm expecting him to say 'yes' with confidence. Instead, I find him looking sheepishly at his hands with a wry smile on his face. "Newly divorced, actually…"

A small 'hmph' noise escapes Kerry's throat, as if she had a feeling that'd be his answer.

I attempt to find a way to end this conversation, or at least divert its topic, until a certain, small redhead takes care of that for me.

"Mommy! Hi!" Gwen says, innocently putting her arms around Kerry's waist.

Kerry's mood shifts as she hugs her daughter back. "Well hello there."

"Can we go get dinner now?" She asks, "I'm super duper hungry."

I look at Kerry.

The redhead nods.

"I should go find Aidan anyway…" Ellis says, glancing around the playground.

"It was nice to meet you." I say, holding out my hand.

He shakes it with a weak smile then nods once in Kerry's direction. "Kerry…"

"Ellis." She replies simply, ending the conversation.

The older man opens his mouth to say something else but thinks better of it. With one last half smile directed at me, he turns around and walks away.

"Who was that?" Gwen asks once he's out of earshot.

Kerry slowly moves her eyes away from her ex-lover, refocusing on our daughter. "An old…" she reconsiders her words and I wonder if she's going to try to explain that this man is not only an old friend, but an old boyfriend, to a seven year old who knows her only as someone who is attracted to women. I mean, even for adults that gets confusing. "Just someone I used to work with."

That's enough of an explanation for Gwen, and she happily takes my hand in her left hand and Kerry's in her right.

* * *

><p>"I didn't think he was that much of an asshole." I tell Kerry as we get ready for bed.<p>

I hear her scoff a laugh from our bathroom. "Neither did I until he tried to take my ER right out from under me."

I bite my lip. "Sorry…" I reply.

The bathroom light flicks off and she joins me in bed. "I'm not."

I raise an eyebrow.

She shrugs. "If I hadn't been with him, hadn't gone through all of that, all of that shit with him and Syngergex, I'm not so sure I'd have ever met you."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs and rolls onto her side. "I don't know…I'm just…I'm happy what happened, happened."

That's enough of an answer, not that I'd get much more of one if I wanted it, and I kiss Kerry's forehead. "Well then I'm happy, too."

And I am.

Except I can't lay the subject to rest just like that.

"So, he was your last?"

An eyebrow arches in a way that would make any of our four children cower.

I smile playfully in response.

"What? I was just going to say that he's not exactly the worst you could have done..."

She rolls her eyes but I can see a shadow of humor on her face.

I kiss her again before rolling onto my back.

A silence falls over us until, after a while, Kerry speaks.

"He is pretty good looking, isn't he?"

"Mh-hm."

"Too bad I have a thing for blondes..."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes and I roll back onto my side to face her. "That's the corniest thing I think I've heard."

She grins. "But it's true!"

I giggle.

I know it is.


	42. Broken

**071: Broken**

_June, 2020_

As I enter the steaming dance studio, my days spent working at my own mother's dance studio come flooding back. It smells like a mix of Henry's duffel bag and the ER in here, and it makes me want to vomit. The humidity doesn't help either, and I can almost feel my hair follicles frizzing.

Awesome.

First, I walk down the hall and enter the first room on my left, where I find myself in a mob of fellow ballet parents and their seven and eight year old children. After saying hi to a few of them, both kids and adults, I locate Gwen. Her long red locks have begun to fall from the bun on top of her head, the strap of her leotard is twisted, and she's got a huge, joyful smile on her face.

"Hi Mommy!" She exclaims, skipping over.

I smile and greet her with a hug. "Are you all set?" I ask, glancing at her instructor suggestively.

She understands what I mean and holds up a finger, the universal signal for 'one minute', then skips over to her instructor, Heidi. I see her tap the tall women on the back, thank her as I silently reminded her to, and then wave goodbye before she bounces back over. "Ready Freddie!"

She takes my hand and we exit the crowded room, now in search for Max's classroom. After peaking into two rooms that were both empty, we finally locate another room that seems to be as hot and humid as a Swedish sex parlor.

Not that I'd know anything about that.

Right away, I spot my lanky fifteen year old in her pink tights, black leotard, and skintight black shorts. Unlike the rest of her classmates who are exchanging their Pointe shoes for flip-flops, however, she is sitting on a foldout chair with a bag of ice laying over her elevated foot.

Now that's exactly what I don't want to see at the end of a two hour Pointe class.

I begin to walk over there when I feel an arm on my shoulder. Slightly surprised, I turn to see the Director of Ballet, who is also Max's instructor, smiling uncomfortably at me.

"Hi, Dr. Legaspi…" she greets me.

"Kim, please." I correct her politely.

She nods. "I just wanted to talk to you before you talk to Max; during Pointe exercises today, her foot kind of…" I can see her searching for the correct word, "Well, her foot kind of...well it kind of collapsed. She wanted to keep going, but she could hardly stand. It's swelling and bruising already. It seems like a torn ligament, but that's obviously not for me to decide." She says, before adding: "I offered to call you or Dr. Weaver, but she wouldn't let me, so I figured I ought to tell you because I have a feeling she'd pretend she's alright, which she definitely isn't." She shakes her head. "I mean, I could tell she was in pretty excruciating pain, I just don't think she wanted to let on. You know, that athlete's complex."

My stomach clenches in sympathy for the pain my daughter is in. I take a look at her, seeing that her eyes are trained on her lap in what is an obvious- at least to me- attempt to hold herself together, then back at her instructor. "Thanks, Stephanie…" I tell her simply, genuinely.

She nods sympathetically, waves goodbye to Gwen, then walks away.

"Maxine, Maxine, Maxine…what are we going to do with you?" I ask, a sad, compassionate smile on my face as I approach my oldest daughter.

"Maxie! What happened?" Gwen exclaims, her eyes wide.

Max looks up and lets her tensed face relax, as if she were letting some sort of façade fall, when she sees her sister and I. She apparently let the floodgates fall when she saw us as well, because a few small tears are suddenly forming in her bright blue eyes.

"Oh, sweetie…" I say, kneeling by her seat. "It's okay, you're alright."

She lets a few silent tears slide down her cheeks and I take a quick look at her foot, which is almost completely black and blue, about twice the size it should be, and bent at an awkward and unnatural angle. If it wasn't my own flesh and blood's foot, my stomach would probably be unsettled just looking at it.

I gently replace the ice pack and look back into her blue eyes.

"Can we go home?" She asks desperately, swallowing hard and wiping her face with the heel of her hand.

I bite my lip. "Max, your foot could be broken…" I tell her slowly, "I think it'd be best if we take a trip to the hospital."

If she hadn't been crying before, she certainly is now.

"I don't want to go, Mom! Please! Just let me go home!" She pleads.

I sigh.

I know going to the hospital would hurt her pride and break what confidence she has left after today's class, but as both her mother and a medical professional, I know that a trip to the ER is going to be necessary in the very near future. As in sometime either tonight or tomorrow, depending on how much pain she's in. However, knowing that forcing her to go to the ER will only add fuel to an already raging fire, I decide to break a deal.

"Okay, here's how this is going to work: Mom is working until seven tonight, so she'll be home by seven thirty. She knows much more about feet than I do," I hear Gwen giggle behind me, "so she'll take a look at it. You will have to do what she says without any arguing, though, which means that, if she thinks you need to go the hospital tonight, you will, and if she thinks you need to go tomorrow, you will. Agreed?"

She nods a little grudgingly and a little sadly, but mostly just sadly.

I give her a soft smile, thank her, then stand up and slide my arm behind her back and the other under her knees.

"What are you doing?" She asks, confused. "I can walk!"

I back up just enough for her to see my facial expression and she relents, relaxing my arms.

The 'Kerry-look' always does the trick.

As I walk down the hall, one daughter in my arms and the other trailing behind me, I can't help but try to crack a joke. "You're lucky you're a feather…" I tell her, ignoring the fact that my weak arms are already starting to burn. "Or else I might've had to ask Alfonso to give me a hand."

She tries to stifle a giggle but lets it out as we walk past the sexy (even to me), Spanish dance instructor who I'm speaking of.

* * *

><p>"Mom? Are you home?" Henry calls out once he's closed the front door. The sound of the keys to his Honda Civic hitting the nearby table follows, and then he's standing in the entryway to the living room.<p>

"Hey, how was work?" I ask, putting down a chart.

"Fine, those little four and five year olds are such handfuls, though." He says, catching sight of Maxine, who is lying on the couch. "What's wrong?" The sixteen year old asks as he takes a seat at the end of couch. Once he sees her foot, however, he doesn't wait for an answer: "That's disgusting, Max!"

She pins him with a deaths stare. "You think I don't know that?" She asks fiercely.

His face drops. "Sorry…I didn't mean…" he shakes his head as he pulls his socks and shin guards off, revealing a just-as-hideous tan line. "What did you do?"

She sighs and rubs her hands over her sun kissed face. "I didn't…my stupid foot just...I don't even know. It just gave out. During pointe."

He frowns empathetically. "Does it hurt?"

I make sure to watch her as she answers. At first I can see that she wants to deny it, but then, after a moment, she nods slowly and shrugs. "A little bit…" she admits.

Translation: it hurts a lot, which is why I'm having a hard time focusing on our conversation.

Why is she so much like her mother?

And by that, I don't mean me.

He gives her a supportive smile and stands up, placing a hand on her blonde head. "Let me know if you need anything, okay? Like food or your laptop or whatever…"

She smiles weakly and nods. "Thanks, Hen."

He nods once and grabs his soccer stuff before heading up to his bedroom.

I quickly stop my staring before Max can realize that her mother actually just witnessed she and her older brother being civil to each other, which is a rarity in this house.

* * *

><p>"And you can't walk at all, right?" Kerry asks, leaning back on her haunches after thoroughly examining Max's foot.<p>

Max shakes her head. "Not really…"

"Okay…and on a scale from zero to ten, ten being unbearable and zero being painless, how bad does it hurt?" She asks, before adding: "And don't lie to me."

Hypocrite.

Max takes a moment to think about it before replying: "Uh…probably a six…"

Kerry looks at me, probably to make sure Max isn't bullshitting her. I shrug and nod. I hate to think she's trying to be tough, but I hate the idea that she could be in more pain than 'a six' even more.

Kerry sighs, and I know she's readying herself to be the bearer of bad news. "I…I'm worried that you won't be able to get much sleep tonight if you don't take any pain medication, but neither one of us can really write you a prescription until we have an x-ray done…" she says apologetically. Max's face drops immediately, and Kerry is quick to try to settle her. "I'll try to get you in and out of there as quickly as I can, Max. I promise."

"Whatever." Maxine relents, her tone full of defeat.

Kerry stands up and kisses the crown of her head. "I'm going to call the front desk to make sure they have an exam room open for you…" she says before leaving.

With a silence now lingering between Max and I, I feel as if I'm supposed to say something but have a hard time conjuring up anything worth vocalizing. After a moment, however, Max speaks instead.

"This sucks." She says, using a word that's usually banned from our household.

I nod. "This really, really sucks."

I'm trying to keep my worries at bay by organizing the coat closet, of all things, when my phone suddenly buzzes against my thigh. I fish it out of my pocket, eager hands fumbling. Finally, I catch hold and enter the password before reading the text aloud to myself under my breath.

_Klein came down from ortho. Took X-ray: fractured cuboid, 3 metatarsus, and prob. ligament damage. Wants MRI tomorrow. Looks like a min. of 6 weeks; Max upset. Filling script, getting crutches and splint. Be home in an hour or so. Love you._

Without realizing it, I've pushed myself up against the wall and have begun to breathe rapidly, my chest heaving. Also unbeknownst to me, I've begun to cry. Confident that the three others won't catch me as it's pushing midnight, I take a seat on the bottom step of the stairs and allow myself to keep on going for a few minutes. You know, just to get it all out.

I don't exactly know why I'm crying; after all, it's not my foot that is broken or my summer plans of dance camps, recitals, and lessons that have been ruined. Hell, I don't even care about the thousands of dollars put towards said camps, recitals, and lessons that are now going to waste. Just the idea that my daughter, my baby, is injured and in pain and has just had her hopes for this summer crushed is enough to break my heart.

I give it a few more minutes then pull myself together and finish with the closet before I head for the kitchen, pulling out leftovers from dinner to heat up for whoever is going to eat them. Minutes later, I'm taking the lasagna dish out of the oven when I hear the lock on the front door turn. Then, I hear the telltale sound of rubber crutch-caps on hardwood floors and I see an exhausted Maxine moving slowly through the kitchen and towards the living room, right leg wrapped in thick layers of ace bandages from the knee, down.

Silently, she lowers herself slowly onto the couch, turns and puts her foot up on the arm, pulls a throw over her body, then shuts her eyes.

She's obviously exhausted, upset, and in pain, and I make the executive decision for Kerry and I to let her stay on the couch tonight; we generally tell the kids that they 'have beds for a reason' and allow them to only sleep in their rooms or in the TV room in the basement, but there's no point in fighting with her when she's already battled enough.

Besides, I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to carry her up the steep, narrow stairs this late at night, and I certainly cannot see her handling them on her own after witnessing the heaviness with which she carried herself through the house just moments ago.

Instead, I head back to the kitchen and take a seat opposite Kerry at the kitchen table.

"What a horrible evening." She says, looking up from her dinner.

I nod slowly, cradling my head in my left hand.

A horrible evening indeed.


	43. Blue

**015: Blue**

_July, 2020_

The sound of aluminum bouncing off of hardwood has me on my feet and in the kitchen in just a couple of seconds. Besides myself, only Max, Kim, and Gwen are home, and I know that the latter of those three are currently upstairs.

"Max? Are you-" I begin to ask but trail off when I see her leaning against the counter, her face stained with frustrated tears, and her crutches lying on the ground a few feet away looking as if they've been dropped.

I move to grab them and hand them to her. "Are you okay?" I ask gently.

She nods once, firmly, and I know she's lying.

She's held up remarkably well for what she's been through during the past month. About three weeks ago, in early June, she tore three ligaments and broke four bones in her foot during a ballet class. How exactly so much damage was done during a simple Pointe routine, no one really knows, but it required surgery, which consisted of placing three separate screws in her size six foot, a cast that goes to just below her knee, and a slim chance of being able to walk without some sort of aid for at least six weeks. This week, the week of June 18th, marks the third week since her injury and second since her surgery.

However, there is one thing that hasn't held up well at all.

Her attitude.

Understandably, the first week after we learned the prognosis of her foot was particularly rough, as she was not only in a lot of pain, but had also just seen her summer, which was supposed to be filled with summer camp, dance lessons, and recitals, come crashing down around her. Naturally, Kim and I did our best to keep her spirits high during that time, but nothing seemed to help and, even three weeks later, she's still completely out of it; from acting out towards her siblings to avoiding her friends, she just isn't the Maxine that we know and love.

It hurts to see her so miserable.

"Max, can we talk?" I ask.

"I'm fine, Mom." She says, beginning to move away from me.

"Stop lying to me, Maxine." I order her. The sternness in my voice surprises us both, and she halts in her path before turning around to face me. Her face is hard and angry.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" She asks roughly.

It takes me a second to find a sufficient reply. "Because that'll only make you feel worse." I tell her. "Believe me."

Suddenly, she slams a crutch against the floor. "Why should I believe you? What do you know about this? Yeah, you're a doctor, and yeah, you're smart, but what could you possibly know about how I feel? Stop pretending you know what you're talking about, because you don't!" she yells.

My first instinct is to yell right back, to let my anger explode. However, I know that that'd be adding fuel to the flame so, after counting to ten and a few deep breaths, I speak calmly instead. "Are you done?"

She's taken aback, I can tell; she, too, was expecting me to yell. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"Then sit down." I tell her, pointing to the kitchen table. Once we're both sitting, I begin: "Okay, so what you need to understand is that you are right, I don't know what it's like to break my foot, go through surgery, and to not be able to dance all summer. Okay? I have no idea what it's like to look forward to having an entire three months dedicated to recitals and camps and long days doing something I love only to have it ruined by a freak accident." I tell her, my voice soft and gentle, sympathetic and understaning. "But I do know what it's like to have an injury and surgery that feels like it's going to be the end of the world." As soon as the words are out, I regret them; I don't think I've ever truly revisited what I went through emotionally before, during, and after I had my hip replaced, and I certainly haven't shared it with anyone. Especially not my teenage daughter. Unfortunately, there's really no turning back now…

"Now, you know that I had my hip replaced when Henry was little, right?" she nods. "Alright, well do you know why I had to have it done?"

She looks at me for a moment then shrugs, shaking her head at the same time. "Because you were born with that thing? You know, the hip dys-…dys-whatever?"

I nod. "Hip dysplasia, but I didn't need to have surgery until I got hurt at the hospital." I explain to her. "I slipped on some ice, which really messed things up. I had an MRI just like you did, and found out that I only had two options: surgery to fix the problem once and for all, or try physical therapy. At first, I decided to avoid the surgery, and-"

"Why would you not want the surgery?" Max asks me.

I pause for a second. "Uh, well…" my slight identity-crisis isn't crucial to the moral of the story, so I decide to cut that that part short. "I was afraid that something would happen to me and that Henry would be alone." I tell her half-truthfully.

Max nods and I continue.

"But, as it turned out, I really couldn't avoid the surgery and so I had to have it. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, and I think it was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. I was in the hospital for five days, I was in a lot of pain, and I was only seeing Henry once in a while. At first, I was relieved to have finally bit the bullet and was motivated to get on with my recovery, but after a couple days of being stuck in a tiny room of the hospital that I ran, I slipped into a really horrible mood. I hated having to rely on other people, hated not being able to take care of my son…." I trail off. "And so, I began avoiding my friends, lashing out at my doctor and physical therapist, and just being a real you-know-what." She chuckles at this; she knows what I'm talking about. "After a couple weeks of this, Abby- you know, Abby Lockhart, from Boston, well she was still living in Chicago- she came over to visit even after I told her not to, and she ended up really helping me out of that rut. I felt better after talking to her, and I realized that, yeah, the current situation really was awful, but also that if I closed myself off from my friends or even my son, it wasn't going to get any better. So, I started focusing on the positive side of what was happening, and before I knew it, I felt a lot better. I mean, I wasn't thrilled about being off my feet or out of work for so long, but it was a whole lot more bearable." I finish.

Max's face is now completely dry, and she's now staring down at her hands. After a moment, she glances back up at me. "I've been really horrible, haven't I?" She asks, her voice just barely a whisper.

I shake my head and get up from my seat. I stand next to her chair and hold out my arms and smile when she leans into them, hugging me. "You've been having a rough couple of weeks, and we all realize that. We just don't want you to be so sad all the time." I tell her, now a step back and looking into her blue eyes. "Will you let us try to help you?" I ask.

She sighs and nods. "Thanks." She says.

I know telling her my story isn't going to be like flicking a switch from sad to happy, but I have faith that it's a start. Maxine is not an angry girl by nature—stubborn: yes; sarcastic: yes; moody: yes—but not angry, and I know that keeping up this façade is really taking it out of her. I'm pretty sure she knows it, too.


	44. Snow

**067: Snow**

_October, 2020_

"Mom, did you turn my alarm off—what the- you have got to be kidding me."

I turn my head to look at Maxine, who is standing at the front bay window with her arms lax at her sides and jaw hung open. She takes one last look at the Winter Wonderland that has formed outside before turning to look at me.

Her eyes are desperate.

"It's October 20th."

I nod.

"It was seventy degrees last weekend."

I nod again.

"Mom, it's a freakin' blizzard out there!"

I nod once more. "Which is why school has been canceled and why I turned your alarm off this morning." I respond.

She flops down on the couch, pulling the soft throw blanket down. She throws it over herself and crosses her arms over her chest. "We were supposed to have a pep rally today." She tells me disappointedly.

"Well at least your playoff soccer game didn't get canceled." Henry says, appearing in the doorway and plopping down on the other end of the couch, his cell phone in his hands. "Coach texted us, he said it's rescheduled for Saturday."

"I have a recital Saturday!" Max says, turning to look at me with wide eyes.

"Max, this is the _playoffs_…"

I hold my hand out and close my eyes, silencing them. "Shouldn't you two be happy it's a snow day?"

They both stare at me looking bewildered as if suggesting such a thing is completely ridiculous.

I sigh. "Look—you both spend seven hours a day at school, three hours a day at soccer or dance, and at least four hours doing homework every night. You get about as much sleep as I did when I was in med school. And that's not a good thing." I say, looking back and forth between them. "Look at this as a blessing; you finished all of your homework last night," at least they better have, I think to myself, "and now you have the entire day to do whatever you want."

They both look as if they're processing my suggestion.

"Go play in the snow. Bake cookies. Play your godforsaken video games. Read a book. Watch a movie." I suggest. "Enjoy having an entire day to take it easy and relax."

They're still staring at me, looking a little unsure of what to say or do.

I sigh and shake my head with a bit of a smile; what monsters Kim and I have created…

Coming to a quick decision, I stand up and clap my hands together. "Alright, I'll make waffles to start it off. Go wake up your brother and sister and tell them that, if they want breakfast, they better be downstairs in the next half hour." I say.

They both smile deviously.

"Be gentle." I add as they rise from the couch and head for the stairs. "And don't wake up Mom! She was on call last night…"

Five hours later, the four kids are sitting at the table sipping hot chocolate after enjoying the three feet of snow that has fallen in our backyard. Naturally, the morning was off to a slow start, but after they had their waffles with apples and cinnamon on top, they were ready for some snow day fun. Now, I listen absent mindedly as they joke and laugh.

I really love when they get along like this. More times than not I feel like they can't stand each other, and to hear them being so friendly is a beautiful reminder that they really do love each other. It's also a good reminder that their many differences really don't inhibit their relationships; I can't help but chuckle when I remember how worried I was about the age difference between Gwen and her siblings.

"A pretty good snow day, huh?" Kim asks, coming up behind me and kissing my cheek. She's just awoken from a post-nightshift nap, and her voice is thick with sleep.

I smile, turning my head to kiss her on the lips. They're soft and her breath is warm. She tastes sweet.

"Ew! Mommy! Momma! Get a room!" Gwen suddenly screeches from the table, and I find myself grinning against Kim's mouth.

Eli and Max laugh, and Henry nods. "Yeah, Moms, get a room!" He teases.

I smile at him, then smile at Kim. She arches an eyebrow and I know what she's suggesting.

There's more screeching and laughing as Kim dips me backwards and our lips lock in a deep, pationate kiss.

A good snow day indeed.

* * *

><p>For<strong> 'Nicole'- <strong>Happy Birthday! I'm sorry I wasn't able to post this that day, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!


	45. Home

**090: Home**

_January, 2021_

"Mommy…" Gwen whines from where she's laying on the living room couch. The feeling I get when I hear the weakness in her voice is equivalent to that of being punched in the stomach.

"Hey, baby." I give her a smile and place my hand on her forehead; I don't need a thermometer to confirm that her fever has yet to break. "How are you feeling?"

"Yucky." She says.

"I'm sorry, sweetie; but you'll feel better before you know it." I tell her.

She sighs and her heavy eyelids flicker shut. I think she's about to fall back into another fitful, fever-induced sleep when her pale lips move. "Will you read to me?" She asks weakly.

I smile and nod. "Of course." I say, scanning the living room for an age-appropriate book. With a feeling of triumph, I spot the fourth "Magic Tree House" book by Mary Pope Osborne, a woman whose books my three other children were brought up on, and grab my glasses before taking a seat at the front of couch.

"Jack stared out his bedroom window. The rain kept falling. And falling. 'The TV said it would stop by noon,' said Annie, his seven-year-old sister. 'It's already past noon,' said Jack…"

I continue to read for well over a half hour until Gwen's breathing is settled into a calm, even pattern that tells me she's finally asleep. Then, I gently rise from the couch and head back towards my office, knowing that chart reviews aren't going to do themselves; I'd much rather be able to be there when she wakes up, but being an attending, never mind a psychiatric attending, doesn't offer that luxury. Hell, it's a miracle I was able to take today off. You'd think having worked there for so long would give me some leverage when it comes to personal time, but I was forced to give up my next day off. Actually, I wasn't really forced…I just have a hard time saying no.

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I jump, startled.

It's Max and Henry's school.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dr. Legaspi? It's Maryanne Heald, the nurse at your daughter's school. Maxine was sent down from class a few minutes ago. Her teacher said that she seemed pretty out of it, a little dazed. Well, I checked her temperature and sure enough, she has a fever of about one hundred and one. She also has a sore throat."

I sigh to myself. I knew she didn't look well this morning, but would she admit it? No.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"I'm actually at home with my youngest right now—she's running a fever as well. I'm thinking there might be a bout of strep in our house." Though I haven't taken a pathology class in years, the white patches in Gwen's throat are a telltale sign that she has strep, which means Maxine probably also has strep, which means they'll both need throat swabs and, presuming the tests come back positive, antibiotics. And naturally, that all has to be done at a medical facility. Thankfully, we have our very own walk-in clinic via the ER, which is where we'll be making a stop on the way home. "I'll bundle her up and be over within twenty minutes."

Maryanne thanks me, says she'll give Max Tylenol for the fever, and hangs up. I, too, hang up before I head back into the living room where Gwen is, and find green eyes peering up at me from the couch when I enter. I put a gentle hand to her forehead as I explain the situation. I'm almost happy that she feels well enough to roll her eyes when I tell her she has to get up and come with me, but am a bit offended when I realize that she just rolled her eyes; she's becoming more and more like Maxine by the day.

God help us.

Once Gwen's grabbed her boots and jacket, we head to the car. I turn the heat on full blast, hoping to block out the mid-January chill, and head for the high school. On the way, I make use of the car's Bluetooth system and call Kerry.

"County General ER,"

"This is Dr. Legaspi—is Dr. Weaver available?" I ask.

"Um, hold on, I'll check—" the newest clerk, whose name I've yet to learn, puts me on hold. A few moments later Kerry's on the line. "Kim?"

"Hey babe…think you can make time for a quick couple of rapid strep tests?"

She groans audibly and I can almost see her rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Gwen and?"

"Maxine. I'm going to pick her up now."

"Damn."

"Damn is right…but will you meet us up front in twenty? I'm pulling up to the school now."

"Twenty sounds good; see you then. Love you."

"Love you, too." I say. I wait for her to hang up before I do.

I pull into an open visitor's parking spot and peer into the back seat. Gwen's half-asleep and looking far worse than she did earlier. "I'll just be one second." I tell her. She nods and I hop out of the car and head up the concrete steps and to the front entrance of Max and Henry's high school. When I get to the main office, which is connected to the nurse's office, a pair of dark green, almost brown eyes catch my own and I stop dead in my tracks.

"You, too?" I ask Henry, who is sitting next to Maxine with his backpack by his feet and coat on his lap.

He nods and the nurse appears with the sign out sheet in hand. "This one has a fever of one hundred and one," she says, looking at Max, "and this one's not far behind at one hundred point six." She finishes, gesturing towards Henry and handing me the piece of paper and pen. I sign my name quickly and thank Ms. Heald, then lead my sicklings to the car. Henry protests that he can drive, but we acknowledge it'd be better if he didn't; I assure him we'll pick up his car as soon as we can.

"Hen? Why are you here?" Gwen asks upon our return.

The sixteen year old slides into the front seat and lets his head fall back against the seat. "The same reason you are, Gwen."

"'Cause you had to pick up Maxie?"

"No, because I'm sick."

Like his mother, his patience is short when he's unwell.

I choose to let the silence that has fallen over the car, remain until when, after a few minutes, I take a left hand turn towards the hospital and Maxine pipes up for the first time. "Where are we going?"

"The hospital."

Suddenly, it seems as if all the lethargy she was clearly experiencing has vanished. "What? Why?"

I glance at her through the rearview mirror. "There's clearly an epidemic in our household, and I'd like to kill it before it attacks the other half of our family."

A 'hmph' comes from the backseat.

"It's a quick throat swab, a five minute test, and then we will be out of here."

The silence falls back over us and I find myself soaking it up.

Every last ounce of it.

Seven minutes later we're in the ER. I hear Kerry before I see her.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in." She says. I turn around and see her putting the back of her hand against Henry's forehead.

"Momma I don't feel good." Gwen whines.

"We know, Gwen." Max snaps.

I look desperately at Kerry.

She smiles sympathetically. At all four of us.

The ER's relatively slow, which allows Kerry to herd the three into one room, check their vitals, swab all of their throats, and get the samples sent off to the lab without backing up the board. When the results come back fifteen minutes later, she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shakes her head. _"_Streptococcus pyogenes for all three of you."

Six eyes stare at her, confused.

She chuckles to herself. "You have strep throat."

"Is that why I can't swallow?" Gwen asks.

Maxine rolls her eyes but, thankfully, remains silent.

"Yep." Kerry responds, withdrawing a hospital-owned palm pilot from her lab coat pocket. She types in something as she speaks, "So on the way home Mommy's going to stop at the pharmacy and pick up this prescription, and then you're all going to go home and rest. In your bedrooms. No laptops, no TV, no toys."

I nod in agreement; I'm glad she's laying down the law right now, because if it were totally up to my discretion, they'd be able to do whatever they want. I mean, I know that playing video games or using the computer isn't what's best for them, but I do have a hard time saying no. And they all know that. And subsequently take advantage of it.

"So can we go home now?" Maxine asks impatiently.

Kerry nods, clearly letting Maxine's poor attitude slide.

With the go-ahead, both Maxine and Henry stand from their seats and head for the door without a word to either of us.

"Well, okay then…" Kerry says under her breath, shaking her head.

I, too, shake my head; yes, they're sick, but that doesn't mean they can't say thank you.

"Ready to go, Gwen?" I ask, turning towards our youngest daughter who's sitting atop the exam table.

The eight year old, who looked as if she was nearly on her death bed just over an hour ago, smiles warmly and jumps down from her seat. Then, she walks up to Kerry and wraps her arms around her middle. "Thank you Momma, you're such a good doctor."

Kerry smiles and kisses the crown of her head. "Thank you Gwen."

I smile as I watch, then take Gwen's head when she releases her mother. "We'll see you in a few hours." I say to Kerry before I kiss her cheek. "Have a good afternoon."

She chuckles and raises her eyebrows. "Yeah, you too."

I smile unenthusiastically. "Wish me luck."

I glance at Max and Henry, who are standing outside the door, then at Gwen.

Kerry's words run through my head: no TV, no computer, no toys.

I'm definitely going to need it.


	46. Enemies

**022: Enemies**

_June, 2021_

"Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!"

I wince as Gwen screeches my name and sprints down the hall. I shudder when her tight-covered feet slide across the hardwood floor and she almost takes a header.

"What's up?" I ask when she's regained her equilibrium.

She grins. "Hannah wants me to sleep over! Can I go? Please?"

I notice that she's holding the phone to her chest.

Crap.

"Are you on the phone with her right now?" I ask, my tone quiet.

She nods.

"Can you see if you can call her back in five minutes?"

She nods again. "Hi, Hannah? My Mom says I need to call you back…is that okay?" She pauses, listening. "Okay, bye!"

She presses 'end' and looks at me. "So can I go?"

I sigh.

Hannah and Gwen do not have what one would call a stable friendship. They've known each other since they were mere toddlers; Hannah's sister, Danielle, danced with Maxine for years, and Hannah and Gwen have been dancing together for the past four years. When they first met, they hit it off straight away; they're very much alike in that they're both full of energy without being entirely out of control, which is probably what keeps them so easily entertained during the long hours spent in the studio. However, one thing they don't share is a temperament; while Hannah is very controlling, Gwen is extremely laidback. This tends to lead to the latter getting used and walked over. Basically, it's been concluded that they're alright if they only spend small amounts of time with each other at the time, which is why this proposed sleep over is making me nervous.

"Do you really want to?" I ask. "I know how you two can be sometimes…"

She gives me a look that tells me she has no recollection of the many tears shed about fights with her fellow dancer.

"Hannah is so much fun, Mom! And her parents just opened up their pool!"

I sigh and shake my head in disdain. "I want to talk to her mother first, and I do not want any calls at twelve in the morning because the two of you have had a fight, okay?" I say sternly.

The redhead nods and presses redial.

A half hour later, I'm driving to River Forest with my bouncing eight year old in the backseat.

* * *

><p>"Thanks again for having her, Leah…" I smile at Hannah's mother as we say our goodbyes.<p>

The young brunette smiles. "Anytime…tell Maxine I say 'hello'."

I nod and exit the Victorian house, following my daughter to the car.

She's pouting.

I just knew this would happen.

Damnit.

"What's wrong, Gwen?"

The redhead shrugs and stares out the car window.

"Did you and Hannah fight?"

She nods.

"About what?"

She slams a clenched fist against her thigh and let out a shrill, angered sigh. Then she goes on this faced paced rant about how they got into an argument over which movie to watch last night which resulted in Hannah sleeping in her bedroom while Gwen slept on the couch.

At this point, I'm a little angry myself; what kind of parents let their daughter treat a guest like that?

She goes on and explains that, this morning, Hannah was adamant about playing one game while Gwen wanted to play another. This, of course, led to another argument which resulted in tension that lasted until about five minutes ago, when I picked her up.

"So what does this tell you?" I ask once she's finished her story.

"Hannah's stupid."

"Gwyneth Emerson."

"Fine." she rolls her eyes. "That Hannah is not a good friend?"

I nod. "I'd say that's pretty accurate."

"I hate her." Gwen says very seriously.

I shoot her a sharp look. "You shouldn't say that, Gwen…it's not good to hate others."

She looks at me through the rearview mirror. "Why?"

I glance at her. "Well, don't you feel angry when you hate someone?"

She shrugs and nods. "I guess."

"And being angry isn't a very nice feeling, right?"

"Right…"

"So don't you think it'd be easier to just no longer be friends with Hannah? Because if being friends with her upsets you and saying that you hate her upsets you, wouldn't it be better for you to have no feelings about her at all?" I suggest, trying to explain simply that she shouldn't make enemies.

"I guess so…" she says thoughtfully. "Does that mean I don't have to go over her house?"

I chuckle wryly to myself, knowing very well that she practically begged Kerry to allow her to go yesterday afternoon. "If you don't want to, you do not have to."

"Good."

I nod.

Good indeed, because the last thing we need is an eight year old who's running around burning bridges and making enemies. That's what we have a teenage daughter for.


	47. Sixth Sense

**035: Sixth Sense**

_November, 2021_

Bags have been tucked into the darkest corners of our closet, hidden from snooping children, and I close the door that connects it from our bedroom. I lean against the solid wood. Six hours of shopping. Six hours. It's a good thing, as doctors, mine and Kerry's bodies are somewhat accustomed to ridiculous hours of waking and sleeping; we were outside the mall, waiting in the line to enter, at eleven pm. We didn't actually get in until quarter till two the next morning. Then, we dealt with the mobs of people who were after many of the same gifts we were. But finally, just bit after five, we made our way to the car, armfuls of bags in tow. We finally arrived home by six, completely spent both mentally and physically.

Black Friday.

Got to love Black Friday.

"Tired?" My favorite voice asks from the doorway of our bedroom.

I open my eyes to see Kerry smiling at me, her own eyes exhausted and heavy. I nod.

She moves through our room and towards our bathroom, her gait just stiff and uneven enough for me to notice. Fifteen years after her hip was replaced she's having more and more trouble with mobility and pain; when the temperature starts to drop to bone-chilling levels in the late fall it aches, when she's on her feet for an especially long time it's tense and sore, when she's immobile for too long it's stiff…it's been getting worse and worse as the years have gone on, and our little big excursion has certainly not worked in her favor.

She closes the bathroom door halfway, does what she has to, then comes back out and falls carefully into bed.

I've changed into my own pajamas—an oversized tee shirt and panties—and move to join her.

"Crazy morning, huh?" I ask.

"You can say that again. Successful, though."

I nod. "Two laptops for the price of one; I feel like Apple was catering specifically to parents of teenaged twins when they developed that deal."

She chuckles and moves to get closer to me. When she does, a small gasp catches in her throat.

I frown at her.

She tries not to look at me.

I don't need to ask and she doesn't need to answer. Instead, I motion for her to roll onto her stomach and roll out of bed. I grab the warming massage cream from the bathroom and come back to bed, where Kerry has taken off her bottoms to reveal her pale skin.

"You know you don't have to…" Kerry says.

I smile. "And give up a chance to put my hands all over your gorgeous body? No way Jose."

She smiles as well and rests her head on her pillow.

I carefully straddle her legs, one of mine on either side of hers, and poor a dime sized drop of cream into the palm of my hand.

Slowly and softly, I begin my massage, starting first at the small of her back and working my way down. She's stiff with tension at first, but not ten minutes have passed when I begin to wonder if she's even awake.

"You still with me, Ker?" I ask quietly.

"Mhm…" she murmurs into her pillow. "You're so good at this…"

I chuckle and continue. I massage until every muscle is loose and relaxed and she's practically asleep. Then I climb off gently, put the cream on my bedside table, and slip under the covers. I pull the blankets up over us then kiss Kerry gently on the cheek.

"Thank you…" she says slowly, sleepily. "You're good at that…"

"At what?" I ask, slightly amused.

"Mmm…knowing what people need…what I need…" she sighs, "It's like a…a sixth sense…" she says, her words slurring and hazy with exhaustion. "I love you."

I kiss her again. "I love you too."


	48. She

**085: She**

_January, 2022_

"Oh! Hi Dr. Legaspi…"

I'm almost as startled to hear that voice as that voice sounds to have seen me. Turning from the counter where I've just dropped off two bags of groceries, I see Zoe, Eli's best friend, at the breakfast bar with a notebook and textbook out in front of her. I see that she's changed the color of the ends of her hair from purple, as they were last week, to a bright, cobalt blue. Though I wouldn't condone such hair coloring for my own children, I have to admit it looks pretty nice in contrast to her raven black, Vietnamese hair. I also notice that she's added yet another piercing to her body, this one on her nose. The diamond stud joins the three she has in her left ear, the five she has in the other, and the one she has on her right eyebrow.

"Hey, Zoe." I say, waving and signing her name sign. "Is Eli here?" I question. As the kids have gotten older, it's become more and more routine to have their friends drop in and out as they please, but there are only a few that I truly feel comfortable having here without one of my own children around. Zoe, who has been Eli's closest friend since he transferred to Palmer back in sixth grade, is one of them.

She shakes her head. "Someone offered him their driving hour with the instructor, so he took it. We're supposed to work on our biology project, so he told me to just meet him here." She explains before looking suddenly alarmed. "I hope it's okay that I'm here? I knew Henry was working, but I thought that Max would be here, but I guess she had a ballet class, and I know Gwen wouldn't be home alone, and-" between the speed at which she's signing and the alarm in her voice, I know she'd continue to apologize unnecessarily if I don't step in.

"Zoe, Zoe; stop…" I smile, "It's fine that you're here; you're always welcome, you know that." I assure her.

She nods and smiles weakly.

At first, I take this as a sufficient response and begin to turn back to the groceries I've just brought in, but I then take a second, closer look at her face.

Something isn't right.

"Zoe? Are you okay?" I question.

She shrugs, unable, by sheer nature, to lie.

"Do feel sick?" I ask, studying her face.

She shakes her head.

"Did something happen at school?" I try.

She shakes her head again.

"At home?"

She shakes her head once more.

"Do you need to talk about something?"

She pauses for a few moments before nodding slowly.

I give her a soft smile before pulling up a seat next to her. "Alright, what's up?" I ask.

She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. "I…well there's this- this person at school." She begins, stuttering slightly. "And I really like this person. A lot. But it's really confusing because they're…well they wouldn't be interested in my. Ever. I mean, they're nice and all, but I just know that they would never even consider me. But I'm, like, totally…well, I really like them, and it just hurts so much to see them with their friends, cause I'd never be friends with them, you know? I'm not like them. And then there's the whole side of it where it's just confusing, because I feel like I shouldn't feel this way and I don't know who to talk to or who will understand…" she trails off.

I cock my head to the side. "Please, don't get offended by my asking this, but…does this 'person' happen to be a girl?" I question as gently as possible.

I already know the answer is 'yes', but her nervous facial expression just confirms it.

"Because, if it is a girl, you know that's okay, right? It may feel a little strange, but it's okay to like a girl." I try to assure her.

She raises her pierced eyebrow. "But not when you're the only one in your school and you have to keep it from everyone."

"Well first of all, I think it's quite unlikely that you're only girl who has feelings for another girl." At her skeptical expression, I continue. "I think it's more likely that some of your classmates may feel the same way you do; you know: that you can't talk about it because you feel like you're the only one?" I try to explain.

Zoe nods.

"But you need to know that you're not the only one; you're not alone." I assure her.

She nods again and a silence stretches over us. After a moment, she speaks. "I don't think my parents will like it very much." She tells me.

That statement holds some substance; years ago, when I first met Zoe's mother, she had a very hard time understanding and accepting the concept of mine and Kerry's relationship. Ever since, however, he's had no problem partaking in car pool or birthday parties, joining us for dinner with her husband once in a while, or just being friendly when we see each other around Oak Park. Still, I understand things can be very different when it's your own daughter who's coming out to you. I give Zoe a gentle smile. "You don't need to tell them right away. I think, if you take some time to figure out how you feel, it'll be a lot easier to tell them when the time's right."

She smiles weakly.

"And you know, Zoe, you can always talk to me." I chuckle, "I…I have some experience with stuff like this."

She chuckles, too, and nods. "Thanks Dr. Legaspi."

I smile, pat her hand, then stand back up from my seat. "Now you should get back to work while I get dinner ready. You'll be staying, right?" I ask.

She nods. "Our project is, uh…well, it's due Thursday…and we haven't really done much. At all."

I run my hand through my hair and shake my head incredulously. "So maybe we won't be giving either of you dinner after all." I tease.

She smiles, chuckles, and leans back over her homework.

As I turn back to my now-thawing groceries, I suddenly realize all at once what this fifteen year old has just told me. Sure, I deal with the occasional LGBTQ patient at work, but besides Kerry and a few other people from my past, I've never had someone I know personally discuss the serious side of their sexuality with me. It's a pretty surreal feeling, I must say: totally unlike the feeling I get after helping a patient in a therapy session, and a lot less frustrating than talking to someone as in-denial Kerry as was, the feeling after talking about such a personal thing with Zoe is comparable only with what I imagine talking to one of my own children about their sexuality might feel like: totally natural.

Now, as I turn to place a couple boxes of cereal in the pantry, I take another look at Zoe. When I see her, I make a promise both to myself and to her, though she may not realize it, to help her through this in any way I can. I have a good understanding of how it feels to be a high school student who feels alone and scared and unsure about whom she is, and I know that my experience may be able to help her.


	49. When

**079: When?**

_April, 2022_

"What's that?" Eli asks as Maxine walks into the kitchen with a thick envelope in her hands. She's also carrying the latest Emergency Medicine Journal that I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I've been eagerly awaiting, two envelopes, and a magazine which she sets down on the countertop.

I look up from my laptop, peering in interest at the orange, 8x11 envelope.

"Oh, nothing…" she replies in a tone that clearly says it is something, and that something is of great value.

Eli raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, it's from Boston."

Now my eyebrow is arched as well.

Boston.

The one city we've been hearing about for months.

Months.

"And who is it from?" I ask, knowing exactly who it's from but playing into Max's nonchalance anyway.

The blonde shrugs. "Just a school…"

Eli rolls his eyes. "Did you get in or not?"

Maxine huffs, here façade collapsing, and tosses the envelope on the table. I'm surprised when it creates a loud thud—do they send more when you've been accepted or when you've been declined?

She sits in the chair next to mine and slouches into a position that is so sloppy it looks unnatural for her to make it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Eli asks.

She shrugs, biting her lip.

"You're nervous." He states.

She nods and pushes it towards her brother. "You look first."

A skeptical eyebrow arches and Eli shakes his head. "No, it's not mine…"

"I know, but I don't want to…I…" she pushes it further towards him. "Just do it. Please."

Eli's face relaxes and he nods once. There's an understanding there, a connection between two teenaged siblings who've been together their entire lives. I've seen only one other relationship like this, and it's between Kim's brother's twin children, Stella and Simon. It's irreplaceable and unable to be replicated.

Slowly, the brunette slides his fingers beneath the envelope's flap. With a bit of pull, he opens it and extracts a pile of papers and a glossy catalog. He sorts through the papers slowly before finally finding the one he's looking for. He unfolds it with care and reads over it slowly.

"'Dear Miss Maxine Legaspi, we thank you for taking interest in Boston Ballet School's Summer Dance Program. Here at BBS…' blah, blah, blah…God, why can't they just get to the point?" Eli comments as he scans the letter. "Oh, okay, here we go: 'After reviewing your audition, we are delighted to inform you that you have been selected to attend our Summer Dance Program beginning June 25th, 2022…'"

Maxine's high pitched screech stops Eli from reading the rest of the letter and within seconds she's on her feet, doing some sort of a distorted happy dance, one not expected of a seasoned ballet dancer, around the kitchen. "Yes, yes, yes, YES!"

I smile; the pride I feel at this very moment surpasses any other I can remember ever feeling. Deep down, I know I've felt this way multiple times before, but at this very moment, I can't focus on anything else.

My daughter may have just earned herself a one way ticket to achieving her dream.

She comes over and hugs me tightly and I swear I can feel her heart beating through her chest. Unsurprisingly, she goes over to Eli next and hugs him as well. After that, she heads straight for the phone and dials what I'm certain is Kim's office's number.

She's bouncing as she waits.

"Hi Leah, it's Maxine…is my mom available?...Thank you!"

She pauses for a moment.

"I got in, I got in, I got in!" She nearly screams into the phone once Kim has finally picked up. "I got in, mom, to SDP! My letter came today!" Kim says a few words and Max laughs. "June 25th! So, like, two months!" Kim says something else and Max glances at the clock. "Okay, I'll see you tonight! I love you too, Mom!"

The teenager hangs up the phone and grabs pauses, standing still with a huge, flighty smile on her face. "Wow." She finally says.

I'm still smiling. "It looks like someone will be spending the summer in Boston." I say, reading the letter to myself then glancing up at her, "Congratulations, hon."

"I can't believe it." She laughs. "I better call Heidi." She replies, speaking of her favorite dance teacher.

"And your grandparents." I add.

She nods and grins, dialing the phone.

I really can't believe she got in. Out of thousands of applicants, she was chosen to be one of just a couple hundred who will be trained by some of the top ballet dancers in not only the country, but the world. When we were first informed of this program we were told from the start that many dancers who attend go straight to being a part of some of the world's best companies, and those who don't, attend top performing arts and dance schools. We were also informed that, though Maxine is among the most talented dancers at her studio, there was just as good of a chance that she would not be accepted into the highly competitive, highly selective program as there was that she would. Though her audition went well, we were still weary of being overconfident. As the projected date of getting a response—two weeks ago—came and went, I think we as a family reached a silent agreement that this was just not her year; though it was never said aloud, we knew we'd just have to try again next year. This letter, albeit two weeks late, is a shock. A pleasant shock, but a shock nonetheless.

I suddenly hear Maxine nearly screaming, again, over the phone; "I got in, Heidi! I did it! I just got the letter today!"

She's never been so happy, so joyful in her entire life.

Hell, this might be the best shock of her life.


	50. Summer

**063: Summer**

_2022_

June/Max

"Alright, so you're sure you have everything? Shampoo, conditioner, soap, razors, shaving cream,…" I begin.

"Sun block, moisturizer, face wash, tampons, hair ties, bobby pins, headbands, hair gel, hair spray, makeup, makeup remover, q-tips, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." Max finishes. "Yeah Mom, I have everything."

I sigh. "And you have your iPod, laptop, and summer reading?"

My eldest daughter nods and smiles. "I even remembered to pack clothes all on my own." She replies sarcastically, but gently.

I actually laugh at this. "Well good, because I don't feel like paying for the overnight shipping of a box of leotards and tights from Chicago to Boston."

She rolls her eyes but smiles. "I've double and triple checked everything. I'm all set." She sounds sure and that's good enough for me.

"Good…" I say, grabbing a handle of one of her pink suitcases. "Then we better get going."

The sixteen year old nods, grabbing onto her other suitcase and swinging her backpack onto her back. "I guess so."

Fifteen minutes later, after Maxine has said her goodbyes to Henry, Eli and Gwen, we're in the car along with Kim heading for O'Hare airport.

"Are you nervous?" Maxine asks from the backseat.

I glance up at her in the rearview mirror before refocusing on the road ahead. "For you?"

She murmurs an affirmative.

I look at Kim, who takes over. "No, we have faith in you. You're a mature, responsible, smart girl and we know that you have a good head on your shoulders. Sure, it's a little scary to have your sixteen year old daughter away from home, in a completely different city for eight weeks, but we know you'll be in good hands and with a good group of people." She answers perfectly.

I nod in agreement. "Besides, if something does go wrong, Abby and Luka are only ten minutes away from the dorms you're staying in."

"But I barely know Abby and Luka." Max responds skeptically.

I glance at her. "But I know them very well and trust them very much, and it's reassuring to know that they're only a call away."

"But it doesn't really matter, because nothing's going to go wrong, right?" Kim, the ultimate optimist, adds.

Max nods and smiles.

The drive is surprisingly quick, considering the fact that we're heading through the city on a warm Saturday morning, and within an hour the three of us have successfully made it to the gate, waiting to board.

We've taken seats in the crowded waiting area; next to me on the left is a brunette woman with two girls, one who looks about Max's age and another who's probably eleven or twelve. They're wearing tie dye tee shirts, athletic shorts, and sneakers, and both have their own sturdy, outdoors-y backpacks. I decide they must be heading to a summer camp on the East Coast. To my right Kim and Max are talking casually, and I suddenly realize that I'm not going to hear that voice yelling at her brothers or teasing her sister for two whole months.

Surprisingly, that's almost heartbreaking.

Now I'm looking at Max closely, studying every fiber of her favorite grey tank top and floral skirt, every blonde curl that cascades down her naturally straight back, every freckle that is on her face, trying to engrave the image into my mind. I find it hard to believe that this is the same girl who, this time two years ago, had just had major orthopedic surgery. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised at her resilience; she's like Kim in that respect: they're both stubborn and as tough as nails.

"Attention Southwest passengers, Southwest flight 1265 to Logan Airport in Boston, Massachusetts is now boarding. Please present your boarding passes to be checked. Southwest flight 1265 is now boarding…"

For a moment, Maxine turns to Kim and I with a panicked expression. She quickly exchanges it, however, for an excited smile.

"You ready?" Kim asks.

She nods. "I'm ready."

Quickly, Kim wraps her arms around our daughter, who is as tall as Kim herself, and kisses her on the cheek.

When she steps back, I see her wipe her hand quickly under her blue eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat and hug Max as well. "I love you." I tell her, kissing her cheek.

Max steps back, adjusts her backpack, and smiles before she begins to walk backwards slowly. "I love you too. Both of you. And I'll call as soon as I land."

We both nod and watch as she approaches the gate. After her boarding pass has been checked, she passes through the barrier and steals one last look.

She smiles and waves.

Both Kim and I smile and wave back, but I soon feel warm tears sliding down my cheeks. I let them rest in their place for a moment before wiping them away.

"First time going away to camp?" The brunette we were sitting next to asks.

I shake my head then nod, unsure of how I should explain the prestigious, eight week ballet intensive Max is attending at the Boston Ballet School. "Er…kind of; she's going to Boston for, um, a ballet program." I tell her, "It's her first time so far away from home for so long. Eight weeks."

The brunette nods and smiles sympathetically. "My girls have been going to camp in Maine since they were six and nine years old. It's never easy seeing them go, but you know that they're going to have an amazing summer and will cherish every memory that they make, and that makes it a whole lot less painful."

I nod and smile, surprisingly comforted by her comment. "Thanks…I needed to hear that."

"No problem. Just remember that it gets easier." She says with a smile, walking away after waving goodbye.

I nod even though she can't see me.

I'm sure it will get easier. It has to.

July/Eli

"Guess what?" Eli asks, plopping himself down on the couch next to Kerry and across from me.

"What?" Kerry asks, closing the latest issue of JAMA and giving our son her full attention.

"Zoe told me something today." He says.

Oh man…

"And what would that be?" She asks.

The brunette runs a hand through his hair. "She's..well, she's gay."

Finally.

"What?" Kerry asks, surprised. "Really?"

Eli nods. "She also told me that she talked to you about it." He says, looking at me questioningly.

I glance down at my lap then nod slowly. "Well…yeah, she did. It was a few months ago. She just needed someone to talk to." I say, a little unsure of how Eli feels about his best friend talking to his mother instead of him about such a personal thing. I know that the emotions LGBT teenagers go through can be hard for 'outsiders' to understand, and I'm not sure many straight sixteen year olds can fully grasp the fact that it's sometimes easier for said LGBT teenagers to talk to an adult rather than a friend about them.

Suddenly, and surprisingly, he smiles and gets off the couch. He soon has his arms around me and his hugging me tightly. "Thank you." He says, now standing in front of me. "She said that you really helped her. I was kind of mad she didn't talk to me, but I'm glad she was able to talk to someone. So thanks."

I smile.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Kerry says, holding a hand out and shaking her head. "What happened?"

Eli and I both chuckle and I relay the story of how, back in January, she told me that she was confused about having a crush on a fellow classmate who happened to be a girl and how, from then on, she occasionally came to me for advice or with questions.

When I'm finished, Eli's smiling and Kerry's sitting back with her arms crossed around her chest. "Why doesn't anyone tell me these things?" She asks, partly kidding.

I can only smile. "I'm sorry…"

She shakes her head and gives a small, understanding smile. "All that matters is that she had someone to talk to…God knows that not enough teenagers do."

I nod in agreement.

"Well, now that I've shared the big news of today, I'm going upstairs to take a shower…" Eli says, heading for the stairs. A few steps in, he turns back. "Oh, but guess what else?" Eli interjects.

We both wait for an answer.

"Well you know that girl she had a crush on? Anna?"

I nod.

"They're going bowling tonight. On a date." He says with a smile before climbing the stairs.

I lean back in the chair with a shocked smile on my face and make a mental note to congratulate Zoe the very next time I see her and give her the biggest hug imaginable, because the girl definitely deserves it.

August/Gwen

"Mommy?" Gwen addresses me from where she's lying in the crook of my arm. We've been relaxing in the shade on the hammock at the lake house for the better part of the afternoon while Kim and the boys are out on the lake; between our shared fair skin and Gwen's excitement over her new book, we thought it best to sit this water skiing adventure out.

"Hm?" I respond, looking down at her. She's placed her book down on her chest and is staring up at me with light blue eyes, waiting. "What's up?"

"Do you love Momma more than you loved Henry's first Momma?" She asks seriously.

I pause for a long while, trying to gather my thoughts. Both Kim and I have been asked this question or one similar by each of our children and I have the clear answer in my mind, but that doesn't make it any easier. It's been over eighteen years since Sandy died and I've long since come to terms with it, but it's never easy to compare the three years I had with her to the thirteen years I've had with Kim.

"I loved Sandy very much and I love Momma very much, but I love them in different ways." I tell her. In response, I get only a contemplative stare. "Alright…well, you know that Sandy died when Henry was very, very little, right?" She nods. "Well before that, we had only been together for about three years. On the other hand, I've been in a relationship with your Momma for a very long time…"

"How long?" She asks.

"Thirteen whole years."

Her eyes widen. "That is a long time."

I give her a small smile and nod. "So because I only had a very small amount of time with Sandy and have had so much time with Momma, I can't say that I love one of them more than the other. Does that make sense?"

My nine year old daughter nods slowly. "So you don't love Sandy more than Momma?"

I shake my head. "I love them both very much and love them very differently. Just like I love you, Eli, Max, and Henry all very much but very differently."

She smiles and I kiss the crown of her head before we go back to our books.

After a few minutes, she speaks up once more. "Does that mean I'm not your favorite?" She questions.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Momma and I don't have any favorites, you know that." I reply much to her dismay. "But you know what?"

She glances up at me.

"You'll always be my baby." I tell her in complete honesty.

She shows me her toothy grin and goes back to her book in content.


	51. Fall

**064- Fall**

_2022_

August/Henry

"I don't want you to go, Hen…" Gwen says through her sniffling, burrowing deeper into her NYU-bound brother's arms.

My eldest son smiles and hugs her tighter. "You know what, Gwen? I'm going to miss you a lot, but I'll email you all the time and I'll be home for Thanksgiving. It'll fly by." He tries to assure her.

The nine year old sniffles. "You promise?"

Henry nods and gives her one last hug. "Absolutely."

Now, he shoots Maxine a lopsided smile and cocks his head slightly. "Do I get a hug, or…?" He teases.

Max gives a small chuckle before nodding and walking into his open arms. She stands three inches taller than him which may presumably make their hug awkward, but its sincerity and their love for each other erases any such barriers and they hold each other tightly.

"I'm sure I'll see you soon…" Henry says with a suggestive smile; he and Max have been cultivating a plan for her to fly out to visit Julliard this year. They're under the impression that she should be able to go alone, while very well knowing that Kim and I are dead set against it.

Max nods strongly and steps back, wiping her hand under eyes quickly.

"And I'll see you soon, too." Henry says, giving Eli a quick hug. The two have grown further apart as they've gotten older but not far enough that their embrace seems forced or uncomfortable. For that, I'm thankful; Henry leaving on anything but good terms with Eli wouldn't be beneficial.

Now, my eighteen year old son is standing in front of me, a smile that eerily represents his mother's on his face. "Ready?" He asks, tightening the straps of the backpack he's carrying.

I nod and make quick work of hugging my three other children goodbye. Kim does the same and, within a few minutes, we're in our rented SUV, heading for New York City.

* * *

><p>"So I guess there's no turning back now, huh?" Henry says with a cool smile as we stand in his small dorm room which is only half occupied as his roommate, a boy named Eric from New Hampshire who's majoring in journalism, has yet to arrive.<p>

I shake my head and Kim speaks. "Not that you want to, right?"

Henry smiles and shakes his head with full conviction. Now, he's looking at me with a bit of a sadder smile, and I wonder how his emotions can change so quickly just by looking away from Kim and at me. "So…you guys should probably get going…you don't want to miss your flight…" He says a little unsurely.

I check my watch even though I know it's about one p.m. and nod. "We probably should."

He nods and I open my arms for him. We've already had the big goodbye talk, gone over details about spending money and necessities, and have talked about our expectations of him, so all that's left is a short-and-sweet goodbye. He steps into them gladly.

I like that, out of our three fully-grown kids, Henry is closest to my own height; I, of course, love receiving hugs from all of my children, but something about being embraced by your sixteen year old twins who stand at 5'9" and 5'10" is a little awkward.

"Your mother would be really proud of you, you know." I murmur into his ear.

I feel him nod. "I know."

I hug him a little more tightly before releasing him and stepping back, allowing Kim to steal a hug for herself. She tells him something that I can't make out, he laughs, and then she kisses his cheek before moving away from him and wiping away a few stray tears.

"I'll talk to you tonight." He says, walking us to the open door that leads to the crowded, noisy hallway.

We nod and, after a moment's pause, walk out of Henry's dorm room.

Kim and I are uncharacteristically quiet as we drive towards JFK Airport, where we have to drop off our one-way rental car and hop a plane back to Chicago. Even as we board the plane and ready for take-off, our conversation is limited to small talk; I'm lost in thought, and I think she is too.

"Are you okay?" She asks after the flight attendants have gone over the mandatory list of instructions and guidelines.

I don't know what exactly she means, but I nod and take her hand. "You?"

She nods, too. "I guess we kind of have to be." She says with a weak smile.

I nod again, her words sinking into my mind. She's right, of course; I don't like how it seems like just yesterday he was three years old and begging me to push him around in that little toy car I bought him and now he's an eighteen year old college student in New York City, but I don't really have a choice. However, I know it's something I have to come to terms with, and it'd probably be best if I do that sooner rather than later. I'll miss him and it's going to be strange to not have him around, but I know it's something that we all have to deal with.

"Yeah," I say. "I guess we do."

September/Eli & Max

"Eli, give me the keys."

"Maxine, get in the passenger's seat."

"Come on, Eli! Let me drive! It's my day!"

"No it isn't. I didn't get to drive yesterday, so it's my turn."

"That doesn't count; it's not my fault you stayed home 'sick'."

" Don't put quotations around 'sick'; I _was_ sick."

"An earache doesn't count."

"It does when you have to wear these all day."

"Stop with the 'I'm deaf, poor me' crap; it's getting old."

I choose that moment to interrupt the heated discussion the twins are sharing. They're in the kitchen where they're supposed to be eating breakfast, but my watch tells me they only have five minutes until they have to leave and I have a feeling neither of them have grabbed a bagel or a banana.

"What's the problem?" I ask, putting on my best, stern, Kerry-esque face; I'm generally no good at dealing with their disputes, but someone's got to do it when Kerry's not around.

As expected, Maxine begins to talk quickly and accusingly. She tells me that Eli took the keys even though, as it's an odd day—the 15th—it's her turn to drive their shared car to school. She says that Eli wants to drive because he stayed home yesterday and missed his turn, but that that isn't fair because, according the clear schedule she, Eli, Kerry, and I laid out when they first got their licenses, she gets to drive on odd dates and he gets to drive on even. Throughout her whole spiel, I can see Eli rolling his eyes out of the corner of my own. Finally, when I'm feeling just as annoyed as he looks, I hold my hand up.

"Okay, okay…stop." I tell her, checking my watch quickly; they have two minutes to get out of the house if one of them is going to drop off the other at school before they go to their own. It's moments like these when I regret having them attend different high schools. We really need to reconsider getting another car. But then we'd probably be dealing with who gets to drive the 'better' one…I hold my hand out to Eli and he grudgingly drops the keys into it. "Maxine's right; we have a schedule for a reason."

My daughter grins and my son pouts, grabs his bag, and heads for the door without a word. Max follows, grabbing her black backpack and leather ballet bag, and swinging the keys around her index finger.

"Goodbye to you, too…" I mutter as the two high school juniors walk into the September cold.

* * *

><p>There's a clear tension between Eli and Maxine at the dinner table but I refrain from broaching the subject. Instead, I exchange curious and worried glances with Kerry from where I'm sitting opposite of her. Of course, Gwen is eating her spaghetti with great content and not a single ounce of awareness about what's going on between her siblings.<p>

After a while of sheer silence, something that is far from normal for our dinner table, Kerry clears her throat. "Is everything okay with you two?" She asks, cocking her head towards the twins.

Eli opens his mouth to speak but stops short after looking at Maxine. When I turn towards her as well, I see that she's shaking her head a little too surely.

Obviously something's going on, and they obviously do not want to tell us what it is.

"Alright, spill it." Kerry demands, setting down her fork and clasping her hands in front of her. The twins look back and forth between each other but the silence remains. "Now." Kerry says loudly.

Eli looks at Max and opens his eyes wide as if to tell her to go ahead, but for one of the few times in her sixteen years of life, the blonde remains quiet. Eli rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath and then speaks.

"Maxine got a ticket on the way to school this morning." He says.

Max stares at him with ice blue eyes.

"Max?" I ask, looking at her with eyes that I know to be just as icy. "Is that true?"

She turns her attention towards me then drops her gaze to her lap, nodding. "Yeah…" she says quietly.

"Max! You got a ticket?" Gwen exclaims, eyes wide and interested.

Kerry hushes her then speaks. At first, she stutters slightly with what I recognize to be shock. "For what?" She questions.

"Speeding…" our eldest daughter says quietly.

"And?" Eli interjects.

She shoots him another angry look. "And for not wearing my seatbelt."

I can almost feel Kerry's anger filling the dining room. "Excuse me?" she asks pointedly.

"I…I wasn't wearing my seatbelt…" Max says. I can hear the fear in her voice.

What feels like an eternal silence falls over the dinner table. I know that Kerry's probably attempting to organize the speech she's going to give Maxine, that Eli and Gwen feel completely out of place, and that Max is sitting in sheer agony as she waits for what could be considered the first part of what is going to be a very, very long punishment. I'm thinking about interrupting said silence for everyone's sake when Kerry finally begins.

"Before you say anything, I want you to listen to me very carefully." She says, speaking in a low tone. "I do not care how much the ticket is going to cost. Losing fifty dollars, one hundred dollars, or five hundred dollars is nowhere near as scary as the thought of losing either you, your brothers or sister, or whoever else you may have in the car while driving." Kerry pauses, takes a breath, then begins again. "You know that I have worked in the ER for a long time, longer than I'd like to count, and one thing that I can almost guarantee is that, when two vehicles are involved in a car accident, the ones who are properly restrained have less severe injuries than the ones who aren't. I…I've seen accidents where one person has been thrown through the windshield while another has come out with scrapes from the glass shards. Guess which one was wearing their seatbelt?"

Maxine's reply is barely a whisper "The second one."

"Exactly." Kerry responds with a nod. "So I'm not going to yell at you, I'm not going to tell you how horrible of a decision you made or how disappointed I am in you, but I am going to tell you that you guys are the most important things in mine and mom's lives, and we would never be able to live with ourselves if anything happened to you."

She's hit the nail directly on the head and I nod in agreement.

Maxine nods as well. "I'm sorry…" she says quietly.

"We know you are." I respond.

"Wait, wait, wait." Eli says, holding out his hand. "Does that mean she's not in trouble? She got a freaking ticket!"

Kerry scoffs a laugh, one that doesn't have a single hint of humor in it. "Oh no, she's in trouble…" she says a little too wryly. "But we'll talk about that later."

Eli nods, partially satisfied, and Max leans back in her seat with a sigh.

We finish dinner quietly.

October/Gwen

"Mom, I look really dumb." Gwen says, looking at me with sad eyes that are so eerily similar to Kim's.

I glance at her lean body, taking in her pink tights, multicolored tulle skirt, light blue leotard, ridiculous make-up, and the tight, red bun that sits on top of her head and is bound by a silky ribbon.

"Actually, I feel really dumb." She adds with a sigh.

I frown and pat the seat next to me on couch. I've noticed over the past few months that Gwen hasn't been coming home with her normal smile and cheeriness after dance lessons, and the excitement she's previously experienced before recitals has seemingly run out. Naturally I've shared my observations with Kim, but we haven't talked to Gwen about how she's feeling; we both agreed that it'd be best to let it play out on its own. And now it looks like it's doing just that. Unfortunately, it's chosen the half hour before the largest recital of the year to do so.

"I think you look beautiful." I tell her.

She shrugs. "I feel stupid, though." Her lean fingers are picking at her voluminous skirt, toying with the silky edging.

"Do you not like your costume?" I ask, carefully making my way towards the actual question I want an answer to.

Again, she shrugs. "Not really…They're not fun anymore. They're just tight and itchy and poofy."

She's got a point there. "What about the actual dancing? Do you still enjoy it?"

My nine year old daughter stares at me, unmoving, then begins to shake her head slowly. "Not really…" she says, her voice tainted with shame.

I nod.

"It's just not fun anymore. I know Max's so good at it and she loves it, but it's not fun for me. I don't like being stuck at the studio for hours learning jazz routines and ballet routines just to do it at one recital and that's it." She shrugs. "And I know that you and Mommy love watching Max and...and I'm sorry that I'm not that good and that I don't like it. I tried, I really did…but I can't keep doing it 'cause I don't like it and I know I'll never be that good…"

By the end of her explanation, I see a tear sliding down her face and move quickly to wipe it away with my thumb. "You should never, ever worry about not being 'as good' as Maxine. First of all, she's almost seventeen years old and you're only nine; she's been dancing for longer than you've been alive. Secondly, you are two entirely separate people, and what's right for her may not be right for you, and what you're good at she may not be. Thirdly, I'm sorry if Mommy or I made you feel like we expect you to follow Maxine's path…when you were little, that's what you wanted, and we assumed that you still did." I tell her.

She's nodding slowly.

I give her a soft smile. "Now, I know you don't want to do this, but it's too late to back out of the recital now…so you're just going to have to go out there and give it your all." She frowns but nods. She knows that flat out quitting is never an option. "But after this show we'll talk to Mommy and then we'll all figure it out together, okay?"

My daughter nods once more and leans into my waiting arms. "Hey Mom?" She asks after a moment, "Can I sign up for basketball?"

I chuckle and squeeze her a little bit tighter. "We'll talk about it."


	52. Independence

**094- Independence**

_February 14th, 2023_

"Isn't it weird kissing Max?" I hear Gwen ask, "I mean, 'cause she's so much taller than you?"

I now hear Maxine cough, her boyfriend Owen stutter a confused answer, and Eli, his friends Zoe and Isaac, and Kim all laugh.

"Hey I'm just curious!" The nine year old says. "I mean, when Moms kiss it's kinda' weird 'cause Mom's pretty short, and—"

"Alright, Gwen, I think he knows what you mean…" Kim interjects.

I step through the threshold of the dining room just in time to see Gwen sink back into her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. I place a glass of wine in front of Kim then take my own seat at the other end of the table.

"You don't need to answer that." I tell Owen with an apologetic smile.

He smirks gratefully.

Owen's a good kid. He's the same age as Maxine and Eli, and has gone to school with Maxine since freshman year. They've been in the same orbit of friends for the same amount of time, but only since summer has their relationship gotten, as Maxine says, 'serious.'

Needless to say, she was sat down for the official 'talk' shortly thereafter.

But overall, I quite like him. He's a good student, has a nice personality, and is very laid back in a way that perfectly counters Maxine's uptight, sometimes Type A personality. He puts up with her mood swings with enviable ease, and makes her smile unlike anyone I've ever seen. He's a keeper. At least as much of a keeper as a high school student can really be. They are seventeen, after all.

"Do you remember your seventeenth birthday, Mommy?" Gwen asks, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

Kim snorts from behind her wine glass, earning her a fleeting but affectionate glare from me.

"That was a really long time ago, Gwen…" Maxine warns.

Jesus Christ, can no one in this family cut me a break?

"I do remember it actually…" I say, looking first at Max, then Kim, then Gwen. "It wasn't too special, though." I admit truthfully.

Gwen shrugs. "I can't wait until I'm that old! I'll be able to drive to the store whenever I want and do whatever I want and it's gonna be great!" She says cheerfully.

"You can do that at sixteen, you know." Zoe tells her with a kind smile.

Gwen rolls her eyes. "Well I know that, but right now we're talking about seventeenth birthdays!" She says. "What did you do for yours?" She asks, signing poorly but well enough to get her message across.

Eli, Zoe and Isaac all look at each other, communicating with only their eyes, before Zoe responds. "I had a bonfire up on the shore with some friends." I hear Isaac snicker slightly, making it clear that that isn't the complete truth, but Zoe's quick to continue her story, "but then it started to snow."

"At the beach?" Gwen exclaims, her eyes wide and tone alarmed.

Zoe laughs and nods. "It was January."

"Why on earth were you at the beach in January?" She exclaim again, this time squeaky and a little bit louder.

Zoe just smiles and shrugs. "It was fun," she turns towards her two best friends, "right?"

They both nod, Isaac still smirking.

I've never liked that boy.

The night preceded much like any other that has us all home at the same time with company; a lot of talking, a lot of laughing, a lot of food, and only one person ended up in tears—Gwen and Eli got in a petty argument over a subject that I'm not even sure of, but which ended up in Gwen stomping up the stairs and slamming the door shut.

Even a lifetime of living with Eli doesn't necessarily mean one remembers that slamming and stomping rarely makes an impact.

Now at nearly eleven Kim and I are finally falling into bed, trusting our middle children to see their friends and significant others out by midnight.

"Can you believe they're seventeen?" She asks, cradling her head in her hand and glancing at me with those blue eyes.

I shake my head. "I thought it was supposed to be easier after the first one?"

She chuckles. "Maybe it's harder because there are two of them…"

"Where's the logic in that argument?" I can't help but ask.

"Logic went out the window when we bought them each a car, Ker—I thought you knew that." She teases, her head coming to rest on my shoulder.

"We'll have to start looking at colleges with them soon…" I say, changing the subject.

I feel her nod. "It's not going to be as easy as it was with Henry, is it?"

I chuckle as I distinctly remember the day a twelve year old Henry came home from school, dropped his backpack on the kitchen floor with a resounding thud, and announced that he was going to go to Columbia University after high school. Granted, that is not where he ended up, but our trip to visit that very school in the fall of his senior year in high school was what introduced him to New York University, which is the school that he proceeded to fall in love with and ultimately attend. Now I think of the two twins, who are both very different from each other as well as very different from their older brother; while they're all incredibly bright young adults, Henry is considerably more interested in academics than the twins, who both clearly value their respective forms of art over their classic education. Does this mean they'll be given free rein to skip out on college? Certainly not. It just means we probably won't be touring your traditional Ivy Leagues, Liberal Arts Colleges, or State Universities and will instead be attending a whole lot of portfolio reviews and auditions.

I shake my head. "Definitely not."

Kim kisses me once more and turn off the lamp, leaving the room dark.

Now we lay in silence and I'm left to my thinking. Seventeen. Wow. It really does feel like just yesterday I was just meeting these children for the first time—Maxine with her bleach blonde curls, Eli with his shy smile; fast forward a bit and Kim and I are holding their hands as we lead them to their first day of first grade; a little further and they're graduating middle school; and now here we are: a year away from being the parents of legal adults.

Where has the time gone? I know practically all parents say this, but it truly does feel like yesterday they needed us for everything and today they're these completely independent beings. Christ, before I know it they'll be getting married.

The thought is almost nauseating.

Whoever thought independence was a nice thing clearly did not have children, because this—this is just terrifying.


	53. Smell

036: Smell

_May, 2023_

Leotard, leotard, tights, shorts, leg warmers, skirt, tights, leotard, sports bra, spandex…an array of pink and white clothing into one pile of dirty laundry...tee shirt, polo, jeans, sweats, jeans, flannel, hoodie, tee shirt, flannel, tee shirt, hoodie…an array—wait a second—what is that sme—

Is that…

No..

I take another whiff.

Oh god, it is. It definitely is.

My seventeen year old son's clothing smells like marijuana.

My seventeen year old is smoking marijuana.

I'm still hanging onto the heavily scented sweatshirt—it's the purple one with the NYU logo that Henry brought home for him over Thanksgiving—when I realize that there might be something in the pockets. Or his backpack. Or his room. Or the car. Should I check?

No.

That's sneaking.

No.

Still, I can't very well put a lighter or a joint or a pipe or whatever he might have in his pockets through the wash, can I? I very gingerly slide my hands into the pockets. I'm only slightly relieved when I come up empty.

I jump and my heart skips about ten beats when the front door opens.

Jesus, Kerry, get a hold of yourself; you're doing laundry, not a drug bust.

"Ker? Are you home?"

I sigh and feel a sudden rush of relief at the sound of Kim's voice.

"In the laundry room…"

I hear the tapping of her shoes on the hardwood floor.

"What's up?" She asks cheerfully, peering through the doorway.

I simply hold the shirt out towards her.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow but still sniffs it. Instantly, she draws back. Then she unfolds the sweatshirt and scans the front, figuring out who it belongs to.

"Eli." She says simply.

I nod slowly.

"It's not that big of a deal, though…and it's not like we didn't think it could happen."

Did she really just say that?

"What?" I ask sharply, shocked. "What are you talking about, 'not like we didn't think it could happen'? Are you honestly telling me you saw this coming?"

Kim looks taken aback. "Why yes, Kerry, as a mother of three teenaged children and a doctor who works with them on a daily basis I did, in fact, foresee the possibility of at least one of them partaking in some sort of illegal activity." She shoots back. "Are you honestly going to tell me you think we're perfect enough for them not to?"

My face feels warm with anger. "Well excuse me for mistaking ourselves to be mothers who've done their job well enough to prevent it!"

Kim laughs cynically. "Jesus, Kerry, would you listen to yourself? The boy's shirt smells like pot and you're making it seem like you personally have got him hooked on meth amphetamine!" She shakes her head with somewhat of a disbelieving smile on her face, "He's a seventeen year old art student who likes to skateboard and hates authority. You may not like it, but you know just as well as I that, between himself, Max and Henry, he's the one who'd be most likely to give that stuff a try."

"So what? You're going to give me some Social Psychological bullshit and that's supposed to explain everything? This is our fault, Kim, and the fact that he's smoking marijuana is not alright! I honestly don't give a shit if his in-group says this is okay, or if this is what the new social norm is…I will not have my son partaking in any of it. It is a nasty, horrible habit." I push right back. "And who knows what this could start; for now it might just be some pot once in a while, by the end of the year he might be skipping class to get stoned, by next year he might be into harder drugs—cocaine, ecstasy, acid—or alcohol…do you really think I'm going to let him get away with that?"

I realize how ridiculous I must sound only when I see Kim's offended expression.

Silence.

After a moment, she speaks quietly. "I can't believe you think I would…"

With that, that places the sweatshirt back into the pile and exits the laundry room.

Shit.

But still: how could she not think this is a big deal? This is a huge deal. On so many levels.

I go about my business anyway, dumping Eli's pot-scented clothes into the laundry, adding a generous amount of soap as if a normal amount wouldn't be enough to get the stench out, and start the spin cycle. I go out to the kitchen, expecting to find Kim, but am greeted only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the need to start dinner.

Whatever, Kim; I'm not going to chase after you. We can talk when you're ready.

So I make dinner, prepare a dish for tomorrow night as Maxine has late rehearsal, and I'm working until eight and Kim until nine, and then put together a batch of cookies just for the hell of it.

By the time I'm done, Max, Eli and Gwen are home from their various activities and Kim and I have successfully gone without saying a single word to each other. We make it through dinner without any exchanges, instead focusing our attention on our food and the kids, and after dinner I stay at the table to help Gwen with her math homework while Max helps Kim clear the table and Eli goes up to his room to work on a project. By nine o'clock all three kids are in their respective rooms sleeping, working on homework, or reading. At least those are the options we give them, and after my little discovery this afternoon, I can't be too sure of what they're doing at any given moment. I'm sitting on the living room sofa folding laundry when Kim descends the stairs, her hair in a French braid and her own New York University sweatshirt pulled over her head.

"Hey…" she acknowledges me softly, taking a seat on the arm of the chair across from me.

I nod a give her a half smile.

She sighs. "Can we talk?"

I, too, sigh. I think mine might be a little more sarcastic, though. "Sure, Kim. Let's talk." I put the light blue leotard I'm holding down in my lap and look her in the eye.

"Do you really think I'm suggesting we just let this just slide? That I think Eli smoking pot is completely fine and that we should do nothing about it?" She asks me, her tone only slightly defensive. When I don't respond—I needed a moment to gather my thoughts—she continues: "Because I'm not, Kerry. I'm not that kind of mother. I can't believe you'd ever, ever think that of me…how could you? I'm a goddamn psychiatrist; I see just as many, if not more, really messed up people than you do every single day. I see how these drugs ruin them. I see how they destroy people's lives." She shakes her head and my stomach is suddenly aching with shame. "I would never, ever encourage anyone to take any recreational drug. Especially not a minor, and especially not our children."

She's really hurt.

I bring my left hand up to my head and take the bridge of my nose between the tip of my thumb and knuckle of my index finger.

What is wrong with me?

"Kim…I misunderstood…I was just so—so, so shocked. And I overreacted." I shake my head. "And I took it out on you." I glance up at her, peer into her blue eyes. They look moist, but she's not crying. "I'm sorry."

She gives me a half smile; nothing happy, but just one that says 'let's move on'. "What are we going to do about the situation?"

I groan into my hand.

She chuckles and slides down so she's sitting in the seat of the chair.

We talk about it for about a half hour, only until the subject in question descends the stairs and we realize just how late it really is. In a very noticeably awkward fashion we say goodnight and make our way upstairs and into bed.

_1 Week Later_

"Eli? Can you sit down for a moment?" Kerry asks our son when he walks into the kitchen. It's Saturday morning, and all three of the others are out of the house; we didn't plan it this way, but when we realized last night that it was just going to be the three of us this morning, we decided to take advantage of the opportunity to settle the issue that's been hanging over our heads for the past week. Any longer, we concurred, and we'd have probably gone crazy. We tried doing it sooner, we did, but we've truly just never found the right moment.

Avoidance at its best, I suppose.

When he doesn't respond, Kerry stomps heavily on the ground. The vibrations that go through the floorboards and through his legs work in getting his attention and he turns around, eyebrows furrowed. "What?" He signs while yawning and clearly annoyed.

"Can you please sit down? We need to talk." Kim repeats herself.

Again, he doesn't respond.

"Hey!" Kerry waves a hand in front of his face, "Look at me."

"Jesus Christ, what?" He demands furiously.

She raises one eyebrow and tilts her head towards where I am at the kitchen table. "Sit. Now."

He rolls his eyes and trudges over, taking a seat across from me. When he looks up, I ask him where his hearing aids are—I don't know if Kerry realized he wasn't wearing them or if she figured he was just blowing her off when he wasn't responding her. He tells me they're upstairs, that the batteries are dead. I nod once then look away, waiting for Kerry to sit down so we can start.

"Okay, here's the deal," she says as she sits down, "I was doing laundry about a week ago and I smelled marijuana on your clothes. You can deny it, but I know what I smelled and—"

Eli's facial expression speaks volumes and I quickly cut Kerry off. "Kerry, stop; he's not wearing his hearing aids."

Kerry looks up, her face sunken—she always feels so bad when she forgets about his hearing. I mean, we all do, but she beats herself up especially hard over it. She apologizes quickly and swiftly begins signing the general idea of what she just said, adding that she knows it was pot and that we're expecting an explanation.

Now his expression is a mix of confusion, guilt, and 'oh shit' while the color drains from his cheeks.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about." He signs, lying horribly.

Both Kerry and I stare at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He repeats.

I roll my eyes and surprise myself, Kerry and Eli when my fist hits the table. "Do not lie to us. Either you were smoking or you were with someone who was. Which is it?"

He narrows his eyes. "Both." He signs.

Kerry sighs heavily, clearly disappointed. I, too, am disappointed, but I've prepared myself; I knew this was coming.

"Why?" I ask simply, leaving the floor open for him to answer in whatever way he sees fit.

"I wanted to. It's not like it's unhealthy or anything…I mean, it's not tobacco or alcohol or, like, crack." He signs. "It's just to chill out."

"When did you start?" I ask, taking a mental note of his 'just to chill out' excuse; I'll be keeping an eye out for any symptoms of mental disorders, though I think he just wanted to be super chill as most marijuana smokers do.

"January." He replies by quickly fingerspelling J-A-N.

"With Zoe and Isaac?" I ask.

He nods.

I shake my head in disapproval but don't say anything.

Kerry takes over. "No more. You can easily become psychologically dependent on it, inhaling the smoke is not good for your lungs, so in that sense it is almost as bad as tobacco, it makes you downright stupid…I could go on, I really could, but I don't need to because you're done with it, okay?"

He stares her straight in the eye. "You can't stop me, you know."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

He matches her with an arched eyebrow of his own.

"No car until further notice, you will not be allowed to hang out with either Zoe or Isaac unless you are here and either Mom or I are home, and you have until tonight to give us every last milligram of marijuana you have and any sort of paraphernalia. If you don't hand it over, one of us will be searching your room first thing tomorrow morning."

Kerry and I have already discussed and agreed on these conditions so I've at least partially prepared myself for his reaction, but the anger I'm seeing in his eyes right now far surpasses any amount I've ever seen in them before.

"You're both bitches." He signs before standing up, slamming his chair back, and making an abrupt exit.

"Well," Kerry sighs, "that went well."

I groan, my head hitting my arms which are resting on the table. "Goddamn…"


	54. Months

**009: Months**

_June 2023_

"Max? Come on, you're going to be late!" Kerry calls from the kitchen, her voice traveling down the hall, up the stairs, and hopefully to where Maxine is in her bedroom. She checks her watch impatiently. "Jesus, what is she doing up there?"

I look at the clock over the microwave; it's 7:45 a.m. and she has a ballet clinic at 8:30. It takes a half hour to drive into the city, where said ballet clinic is being held. We typically wouldn't care too much about when she managed to get herself up and out of the door—you know, if she's late it'd be her own fault and she'd theoretically learn a lesson—but ever since Henry arrived home from New York a couple weeks ago and Eli got his driving privileges back, we've been down to four cars and five licensed drives. Not a good number when every one of those drivers has places to be and people to see. On this particular day, Max has drawn the short straw and will be getting dropped off by Kerry before her shift at County.

"Good God…" Kerry slides her stool back from the kitchen counter, getting ready to march up the stairs in search of our eldest daughter.

I hold my hand up. "I'll go," I say, hoping to prevent any sparks from flying between the two this early in the morning.

Kerry relents easily. Though she's often stuck playing the role of the bad guy in our relationship, having to dole out punishments or keep the kids in line, I know she really only does it to save me from having to, and I try hard to take on some of the less pleasant duties myself.

I move up the stairs quickly and quietly in hopes that, if Kerry's shouts didn't wake up Henry or Gwen, my steps won't either. I take a left at the top and head to the end of the hall, coming upon the door that is left open only a crack. I raise my hand to knock but stop myself when I suddenly hear something.

Something…peculiar.

It's the distinct sound of labored breathing.

Labored breathing and the sound of footfalls against carpeted floor.

I knock quickly before pushing the door open all the way; I would normally be chastised for this, but I know in my gut something's not right, and I don't think she's going to be angry with me in the end.

"Max? Are you alright?" I ask, watching the pacing, distraught figure in front of me.

She looks up, acknowledging me as well as showing me the enlarged pupils within her terrified, watering eyes. Her chest is heaving as she draws short, fast breaths that aren't nearly deep enough to fill her lungs, and one of her hands is over her chest while the other is by her side, shaking uncontrollably as she paces back and forth. "I…I can't, I can't…I can't b—breathe…I'm losing it." She says, clearly in a deep state of panic.

I fly into psychiatrist mode.

"Max, sweetie, you're alright…" I take her very gently by the arm and lead her to her bed then sit her down on the floor against it. I squat down next to her. "I need to check your pulse, okay? Just take slow, deep breathes."

I clasp her wrist, finding her pulse with my index and middle finger and count the pounding against the second hand of my watch. After a minute I shake my head; her heart rate thinks she just finished a mile long sprint, it's beating so incredibly fast.

"Okay, sweetie, keep taking slow, deep breathes," I saw quietly as I rub her back, "you're going to be okay."

Pervasive thoughts of the mental, emotional, and even physical pain she's facing and the fear that she's experiencing find their way into my mind. I try my hardest to push them away so that I'm considering them only on a medical level, reminding myself that it's sometimes impossibly hard to be both a child's mother and doctor. Yet here I am, my hand still stroking her back in comfort while I run through the DSM-V-TR criteria of various mental disorders associated with panic attacks.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, she's no longer hyperventilating, and her shaking has reduced to a small quiver. "You're okay, just keep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth; nice and slow."

A few minutes later, I check her pulse once more. Better, though still not entirely normal.

I wipe a tear off her cheek with the pad of my thumb. "How are you feeling?"

"Less like I'm going to pass out…" she says, her voice shaking and breaking.

"Well that's a start…" I smile gently. "How were you feeling when you woke up this morning?"

A shrug. "Okay…"

"Did you have a stomachache or headache or anything like that?"

She shakes her head.

"What were you thinking about earlier?" I ask carefully, taking her hand in mine. I know this question could easily trigger another flood of intense fear and panic, but I need the answer to it in order to help her. It's a situation I face often with my patients who have anxiety and panic disorders, and there's unfortunately no subtle way to get around it.

She drops her gaze to her lap.

"Were you having scary thoughts? Or maybe you were worrying about something?" I prod a little further. She looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. I have another thought, "You know, I am wearing my doctor hat right now…you can tell me anything you want, and you don't have to worry about me telling anyone you don't want me to. And no matter what you say, I won't be angry. I'm Kimberly Legaspi, M.D. right now, here to serve."

She nods in response to my question, drawing in another deep, shaky breath, "I was fine when I woke up…" she begins, "and then I showered, but while I was in the shower I started thinking about dance, about this stupid class. And then I got really uncomfortable and felt—felt like I couldn't breathe and like I was going to—to pass out. I thought I was…" her breathing starts to pick up again and she never finishes her thought, though I'm pretty sure I know what she was going to say. I've heard it countless times before as patients of mine recall what they go through during panic attacks. 'I thought I was going to die…I thought I was going crazy…I thought I was losing it…' It's almost always the same, and it's always so disconcerting.

"It's okay, I understand…" I assure her, "just take some deep breaths."

She nods, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

We sit in silence for a while longer when suddenly Kerry's voice travels in through the bedroom door, "Maxine? Let's go! Now we're both going to be late!" She says.

The seventeen year old turns to me, her eyes wide and filled with terror once again.

"It's okay, sweetie…just keep breathing. I'm going to go talk to Mom, alright?"

"Don't make me go, please don't make me go…" she pleads in between breaths.

The desperation in her voice is heartbreaking.

Out in the hallway I nearly run head on into Kerry. "What the hell's taking so long?" She asks, trying to get around me.

I put my hands out to stop her. "She's coming down from a panic attack, Kerry." I tell her point-blank, my voice soft and quiet.

Kerry's eyes widen then narrow. "What? Are you sure it's nothing physiological? How's her heart rate? Wait, she is responsive, isn't she?"

One of my hands goes on her shoulder and the other drops to my side. "I'm positive it was a panic attack, it's coming down slowly, and she's still shaky…coherent, able to tell me what happened, but you walking up the stairs just about triggered her again."

Kerry's hand flutters over her lips. "What was it?"

I open my mouth to speak but stop myself, actually thinking about what Max told me for the first time. 'I started thinking about dance…' Dance. The activity that she's lived, breathed, and loved for the past eleven years. What's happening now? Is the pressure too much? Is she injured? Has she slowly and silently been developing a disdain for it? Or is this episode completely unrelated to dance and rather a manifestation of a panic disorder that is suddenly making itself known? I fear the thought that it's any of those, to be honest, but I can't imagine any alternatives.

"Dance."

* * *

><p>I'm rereading the fifth paragraph of a fourth year resident's research proposal for what has to be the tenth time when Kerry slowly lowers herself onto the couch next to me. I can feel her grimacing. Even after a comparatively short, six hour shift she's clearly in pain, and it adds to my mounting worry surrounding my family.<p>

I swallow down my questions and concerns; one battle at a time, Kim.

"Have you spoken with her?" She asks, speaking undoubtedly of Max.

My head falls back against the couch. "Around lunch. She seemed…better; she actually ate something, went for a run. She hasn't been open to talking much, though."

Kerry sighs, expressing the frustration and confusion we're both feeling, "So still no idea as to whether or not this, the anxiety, the panic, has been happening for a while? You know, under the cover of night?"

"I asked, she said dance. For all we know, she could have been going through this for the past three months." I admit, disgusted by the idea that our eldest daughter may have been struggling with this and neither myself nor Kerry knew.

"Six." A voice, Gwen's, suddenly interjects from behind the couch.

I turn around slowly, my eyes finding my lanky, almost-ten year old standing in the entryway that separates the kitchen from the living room. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she's leaning, a little too comfortably, against the doorframe. "Gwyneth, you know it's inappropriate to eavesdrop—how long have you been standing there?"

"Since Mom came in from the kitchen;" she looks at Kerry, "you're walking differently; are you okay?"

Kerry holds up her hand. "Don't deflect."

Gwen bites her lip. "Sorry."

Kerry nods her head once. "What does 'six' mean, Gwen? Six what?"

"Six months. She's been like this for six months." She's wringing her hands, her gaze trained on the floor.

"And you know this how?"

A silent shrug.

"Did she tell you this? It's okay to tell us, even if she asked you not to—we're trying to help Max feel better." Kerry says.

No response.

Kerry and I exchange a glance.

Suspicion is clear in her eyes, and I'm sure it's mirrored in my own.

"Gwen," I begin sternly, making sure she knows I'm not messing around, "if Maxine did not tell you how she was feeling, how do you know?"

She mumbles something undetectable.

"Gwyneth…"

She looks up at us slowly and repeats herself, her voice timid, "I…I read her journal…" she admits, practically flinching.

A thick hush falls over the living room, one I remember to be so dreadful when I was young. We let it sit for a while before Kerry speaks up, telling Gwen to come and sit on the coffee table across from us.

"You should not have read her journal, Gwen. That is a huge invasion of her privacy, and we will be talking about it later, and you can expect a punishment. We'll also be talking about your eavesdropping, because that is not appropriate." I explain. "But right now, we need to ask if you've noticed anything different about your sister's behavior…maybe something related to dance?" I ask carefully, hoping to stay clear of straight out asking her to tell us what was in Max's diary.

Suddenly and strangely, she perks up. Her head and all of her hair begin to nod vigorously, "Yeah, and that's why I read her journal—at the end of school, like in May, I was at Ellie's house after lacrosse practice. But it rained so Ellie's mom brought me home because you were working but you knew that Max was going to be home. So she dropped me off and I went upstairs and I found her in her room crying really hard." She shook her head, "It was really sad and I didn't know what to do, but I just sat there until she felt a little bit better. And then I asked her what was wrong, but she just wouldn't tell me, and she got so angry and she yelled at me and told me to get out." Gwen explained, "I really wanted to know what was wrong, because she's always so sad, so…I did what I did…" The story finished with a deep, sad sigh from the redhead.

I pat her on the knee. At least she has good intentions.

I excuse her, sending her to her room and assuring her that we'll be having a discussion about her habits tomorrow.

She nods and shuffles away silently.

When she's cleared the top of the stairs, I let out a long, loud sigh.

"So now we've not only got a seventeen year old who's suddenly lost the composure she's so famous for, but also a nearly-ten year old who's decided this is a great time to jump on into her eavesdropping and snooping stage?" Kerry thinks aloud, clearly as exasperated as myself.

"At least it's after we've pulled our other seventeen year old out of his rebellious, experimental stage and sent out nineteen year old off to college." I add a weak smile to the end of that one.

She shakes her head. "Where do we start, Kim?"

I take her hand and squeeze it. "I'll give it one more shot with Max, you go take some Advil and take a bath; Gwen's right."

She swats at me as I walk past.

Upstairs, I find Max lounging on her bed on her back, her cell phone to her left, an unopened book to her right, and her eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling. When I knocked lightly, she turns her head and glances at me when I knock on the door. "Hi."

"You're awake." I smile, stepping into her room and sitting on the edge of her bed. It's only eight, but after the day she's had her body and mind has every right to be taxed.

"Hardly."

My smile saddens. "I'm sorry, I know it's rough…the fight or flight response, what your body is going through, it takes a lot out of you."

She nods.

A short silence.

"What's wrong with me, Mom?"

I feel my eyebrows knit together.

Deep breath.

"What happened this morning, what I think you were experiencing, is called a panic attack. It's this strange thing that happens inside your whole body, and it really feels like that, doesn't it? Your heart may pound, you may feel sick, or dizzy, or really confused, and you may even feel like you're going to go crazy, or like you're just going to lose control of yourself…" I explain, observing a subtle understanding appear across her facial features. "Now, one of the stranger things about these attacks is that they don't always need a trigger. Some people just develop panic attacks for no apparent reason. On the other hand, some people's panic attacks are triggered by something. For a lot of people, this is something that they're worried about…a lot of teenagers who have panic attacks are triggered by stress with school, family problems, their social life, and even problems with extracurricular activities." I say, watching as her eyes squeeze shut.

Bingo, Dr. Legaspi strikes a chord.

"Do you think that's what happened to you, Max? Do you think your panic attack was triggered by something that you might be worried about, rather than it being random?" I go a little further.

The deep breath she draws is shaky.

An affirming nod.

"Maybe ballet?" I hold my own breath.

She looks up at me now, her eyes moist with tears. "I hate it, Mom."

Any suspicions I had about what it was about ballet that was bothering her have gone out the window.

She doesn't want to do it.

She continues tearfully, "I used to love it so much but now it's become…it's such a burden. I used to wake up in the morning, excited to go to school so I could go to the studio and dance until my feet were torn and bleeding. I lived for that. Then it was like…like, after Christmas last year I just couldn't do it anymore. Every day I was more tired and I missed my friends, and Owen, and—and you guys…" she chokes back a sob, shaking her head, "But it's who I've always been and what I've done for a really long time and I f—feel like…like I'm nothing now. So I kept going. But I h—hate myself for it."

"And that's why you didn't tell Mom or I about it?" I ask quietly, feeling like my stomach and my heart and every other vital organ inside my body has dropped to the floor.

She nods, opening the flood gates and breaking my heart.

I draw the rest of the conclusions and open my arms for her to lean into.

Kerry's in bed with her eyes shut but glasses and bedside light still on when I finally retire to our room. She stirs when I climb in next to her.

"The boys are home, Gwen's tucked in, and Max is asleep." I say all before she can open her mouth.

She nods against her pillow. "Any progress?"

"She's been developing this…this disdain for dance, and it all kind of exploded." I roll over onto my side so my head is even with Kerry's. "She was afraid to tell us, Ker…she said—she said that she hates herself because of how she feels."

Kerry runs her hand through my hair. "We didn't do this to her, Kim."

I'm not aware of my quiet sobbing until I speak.

"But we didn't realize it was happening."

She holds me as I cry.


	55. Where

**078: Where **

_October 2023_

"Three kids in college." Kim says. "At once."

I glance up from a third year student's paper that I'm reviewing. She's lounging on the couch across the living room with the New York Times resting on her lap. Her hair, still as blonde as it was the day I met her, is pulled into a French braid and her black glasses frame her bright eyes perfectly. She's wearing a pair of old jeans and an even older University of California, Berkeley tee shirt. She almost looks like a college student herself, which is an astounding feat for someone who'll be fifty on her next birthday.

I nod slowly. "Can you imagine only having one kid in the house?"

She smiles slightly. "Now that's going to be weird. And quiet. Think about how much less the grocery bill is going to be…and gas! My God, we're only going to be fueling two cars again…"

I chuckle at her excitement. "Whatever we're going to be saving will be nil compared to what we'll be spending in tuition, Kim."

She smiles ruefully. "I'm just trying to put a positive spin on things, here."

I lean my head back against the cushions of the couch. "Where do you think they'll end up?" I ask.

"Max really likes Emory and Eli loved Cal Arts when we visited." She responds matter-of-factly.

I shake my head. "No, no, I mean where they'll end up in life…what they'll do after school, what they'll make of themselves."

Kim raises an eyebrow. "Such big questions, so few answers…"

I sigh. "I knew exactly what I wanted to do when I was their age; Cornell for undergrad, University of Chicago for medical school, work overseas, become chief resident…I had it all, more or less, planned out." I explain.

Kim laughs.

"That's funny how?"

She smiles sweetly. "We just had very different experiences." I nod, encouraging her to continue. "I thought I wanted to be a teacher from the time I was six until my sophomore year of college. First a kindergarten teacher, then a middle school teacher, and finally a high school science teacher. Biology, I learned in 10th grade, was my expertise. So I went to Berkley, mostly just because my SAT scores were good enough, they wanted me to run for them, and I wanted to get out of the Midwest, and was taking all the classes a good biology major takes when I started volunteering at an LGBT center downtown. I realized, then, that I was really, really good at talking to people, and not just in a casual or informal way. So I thought maybe I wanted to be a psychologist, but after a little bit of research I realized that an MD was a better fit. So I studied for my MCATs, ended up back in Illinois at Northwestern, and the rest is kind-of-sort-of history."

I blink slowly. "You wanted to be a kindergarten teacher?"

She nods.

"Why in the world would you ever think of subjecting yourself to that?" I ask.

She sticks her tongue out. "My point is that it may not be wise to speculate on who they'll become or what they'll do…I certainly thought I'd become one thing and became something totally different. Not everyone can have lives so…planned out. That doesn't work for everyone." Her voice has no malice and I know she has a good point.

"I still think I'd like one of them to become a doctor…" I mutter, only partially joking.

"Do you really think the world can handle another Doctor Weaver?" she chides.

My only response is a smirk and tossing toss the throw pillow that sits next to me towards her.


	56. Light

**073: Light**

_March 2024_

The carpool lane is as busy as it always is, with soccer parents, business executives, and nannies lining up in a totally not straight line to pick up their kids. (I guess there are probably some siblings out here, too...I'm here, after all). Last year, sitting in this line would have made my pulse race, my palms sweat, and my stomach tie into knots. Now I can sit here and simply wait.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I thank modern medicine for the invention of medication designed specifically for little teenaged psychos like myself. Mom doesn't like when I say that I'm a psycho- she says it's disrespectful to not only myself but also the millions of other people around the world with mental health issues- but whatever. I think developing panic attacks about the simplest of things is pretty psychotic.

My freshly polished fingers tap against the steering wheel in a steady rhythm. Yet another thing that's changed in my life over the past year: the ability to paint my nails. I haven't been able to wear colored nail polish…well, ever.

Such freedom a mental breakdown can give a girl.

I finally spot a certain redhead bouncing down the stone steps of her school. She's with two of her friends—Kendall and Sam, I think—but waves goodbye and bounds toward me with a broad smile when she sees my car. God, when is that girl not smiling? It's seriously infectious.

"Hey you," I greet when she pulls open the front door. She's technically not supposed to sit up here, according to Moms, but when it's just the two of us I make an exception, "how was your day?"

She tosses her backpack into the backseat and pulls her seatbelt over her chest. "Fantastic! I got a 100% on my vocabulary test and scored most of the goals in our basketball game during PE."

And looked damn cute while doing it, I think looking at her straight legged jeans, navy blue and white striped cardigan, and purple headband. "That sounds like a great day."

She nods. "But you know Alex?" I nod; I sure do know Alex, the boy she's had a little "thing" with since last Wednesday during lunch. "Well, he sat next to Emma during Library Time instead of me…"

I play along with her genuine dismay as I pull out into the exiting traffic. "Well what happened? I thought he was cool?"

"Guess not." She says matter-of-factly.

I smile. Good girl. "Now, I have an idea that I'd like to share with you…" I say mischievously.

Her thin, pale eyebrows rise with excitement. "What?"

"How about you and I drive into the city, go shopping, and have dinner tonight? Just the two of us." I suggest. I'm leaving for college in just a few months, and tonight seems like it could produce the kind of memories I'd like to leave her with when her big sister is suddenly no longer at home.

Her eyes light up, bright and shining: a clear yes that's enforced by some enthusiastic head-nodding.

"Good answer; I already asked Moms and they said yes, so we're all set."

My little sister smiles and reaches in front of her to turn on the radio. We drive for a while, winding through town roads before hopping on the highway. Soon, we arrive in downtown Chicago.

* * *

><p>"So, where do you think you're going to wear that yellow dress?" I ask Gwen as we drive back towards Oak Park.<p>

"Your graduation, obviously!" She smiles a smile so broad I can see it through the dark.

My heart warms; she is seriously the sweetest sister a girl could ask for.

"Where do you think you're gonna go to school?" She asks suddenly.

I glance at her and shrug. "I'm not sure yet. Hopefully Emory, but I'll be happy no matter what."

She's silent for a couple moments. "Where's the farthest away you might go?" Her voice is quieter, now, and much more serious.

"Berkeley is in California, which I think is a little bit farther away from Illinois than Massachusetts. That's where Boston University and Northeastern are. It's just a plane ride, though." I explain to her.

"How close could you go to school?" she asks, still solemn.

"The University of Michigan." I know that she's worried about me deserting her, leaving her here in Illinois while I move across the country to a new and exciting city. I felt that way when Henry left, and I was a teenager who still had two other siblings at home. "But you know, Gwen, no matter where I go you'll be able to call and email me whenever you want." I take my right hand off the wheel, reach across the center console, and squeeze her bony knee.

"You promise?" She says, putting her own hand on top of my mine.

I look at her, locking eyes for a long moment. I'm about to tell her that I promise when the high pitched sound of squealing tires and blast of car horns cuts me off. Instinctually, I tear my eyes away from hers and rip my hand from her clasp. I'm too late, though, and instead of seeing my beautiful little sister's eyes before descending deep into blackness, I see the harsh lights of the oncoming car.


	57. Hours

**006: Hours**

_March 2024_

I hear a beeper.

I do not want to hear a beeper.

Not tonight, the first Friday night both Kim and I have been off and all three of the kids have been out of the house in a very, very long time.

No, not tonight.

"Want to make a bet on whose that is?" Kim calls in from the living room, sounding just as perturbed as I feel.

I walk over to the table near the back door, the resting place of our pagers. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer it's just Kim's receptionist or the ER clerk with a quick question. Anything but…

Goddamnit.

"It's mine—a 911 from the ER." I call out to Kim in defeat.

Suddenly, a second round of beeping begins. This one originates from the beeper that's still on the table.

My stomach drops. Neither Kim nor I are on call tonight, and while it's not strange for me to get paged to cover for someone every once in a while, she hardly ever gets paged after hours. And unless there's an incredibly huge mass casualty, we hardly ever both get called in on the same night.

Something's wrong.

"Kim? Kim, that one's yours…"

She's in the kitchen within seconds. I pull my cell phone from my pocket and dial the ER. The receptionist answers immediately, sounding breathless.

"It's Kerry Weaver, I received a 911."

"Oh, Dr. Weaver…let me get another Doctor for you." She says gravely.

I glance at Kim.

"Kerry? It's Archie. Maxine and Gwen were brought in a few minutes ago after a multicar MVA on 290…there's no need to run any red lights, but you need to get here."

I try to take a breath. It comes out like a gasp.

"Are they stable?" I know he can't give me all the information now, that he has to get back to dealing with the trauma that has obviously swept the ER, but I won't be able to hang up this phone without knowing.

"Yes, yes they're stable. I need to go, Kerry. Don't get yourself pulled over, just get here." Archie says before hanging up.

Kim's face is ashen when I finally end the call and turn to her. "What's wrong…?"

"Gwen and Maxine," I start towards the door, "they were in an accident."

* * *

><p>"Where is Dr. Morris?" I demand, my hands clutching the clerk's desk tightly enough to make my knuckles white. The brunette, whose name I keep forgetting, looks up, clearly startled by my sudden and unscheduled presence. She stares at me for a moment too long. I roll my eyes and brush past her, going to the board and searching for my children's names.<p>

I see T1 next to Gwen's name and T2 next to Max's.

Trauma rooms.

I walk as quickly as I can towards the rooms I know like the back of my hand, Kim hot on my heels.

I'm about to walk through the double doors when a gurney pushes through. Atop lies my youngest daughter, her face bruised with IVs running into her arm. Archie's at the side of the gurney and his hand is clutched in hers.

"What's happening?" Kim asks from behind me, "Where are you going?"

Still holding my daughter's small hand, Archie responds. "Radiology to check out her nose." He explains, giving my daughter's hand another squeeze.

Kim has moved to the other side of her gurney and is smoothing her red locks gently. "I'm going to go with you, sweetie, don't worry."

Gwen glances up and nods. Her eyes shine with tears.

"Maxine's in Trauma Two," Archie tells me, "Kathleen's with her."

I glance at Kim, kiss Gwen on the forehead, and then head towards the room. I peer through the door's window before entering, preparing myself for what I may see and giving myself a moment to take a few deep breaths. On the other side of the door, Maxine is resting on a gurney. Her face isn't bruised like Gwen's—she's much taller than the elementary school student, so the airbag didn't cause any facial trauma. Instead, she has a tube coming from her chest and an oxygen mask over nose and mouth. Her left arm rests on a pillow with an ice pack atop it.

After drawing in two deep breaths, I walk through the double doors.

Max's blue eyes get wide when I come into view and I know she's going to cry. Ignoring the resident, I go to the head of the gurney and take her hands in mine.

"I'm so, so sorry, Mommy." Her voice is weak, breathless, and shaking with fear.

I shake my head. "You're both going to be okay. That's what matters."

"Gwen?" She asks.

I nod. "Her nose is broken, but Archie and Mom are with her. She'll be fine."

"What about the other guy?"

I look curiously at the resident who's positioned herself at the head of the gurney. She shakes her head once. I direct my attention back towards Max and pat her hand. "I'm not sure, sweetie."

She nods. "I'm so sorry…" She says again.

I continue to hold her hand, both for her sake and mine, for a long time. Sometime after my arrival, a resident from pulmonology consults and decides she has to stay overnight, that the chest tube that re-inflated her lung isn't ready to come out. A few minutes later, transport arrives to bring her to the PICU. I leave word with the resident, Kathleen, to tell Kim where we are and bring Max upstairs. After the senior resident on call checks her in and the nurses do a bit of prodding, she shuts her eyes again and I take a seat near her bed. We're both soon asleep.

* * *

><p>"Dr. Weaver? Dr. Weaver?"<p>

Someone's saying my name and shaking my shoulder and I jump, startled. It's a nurse, a PICU nurse according to her bright, playful scrubs. Instantly, I remember where I am and why I'm there. Maxine. Gwen. MVA.

"Dr. Weaver, Dr. Legaspi wants to see you but we can only let one visitor in at a time." The nurse says quietly, motioning toward the hallway.

I nod and head out the sliding glass doors.

I'm faced with an onslaught of questions about Max and, once I've answered them, ask just as many about Gwen. Her nose is broken, she has a concussion, but that's it. She's asleep in the ER right now, under the watchful eyes of the nurses and med students. The other driver's blood alcohol level was through the roof and he'd apparently crossed over the median while driving down the highway. The police need to talk to Max, but they'll wait until tomorrow.

I feel sick to my stomach by the time she's finished talking.

"One of us should stay here, right?" She asks.

I nod and tell her I'll stay – she should bring Gwen home and get some rest.

She nods and pulls me into a hug, her arms stabilizing me and giving me strength even in spite of everything that's happened this evening. I kiss her, tell her to tell Gwen I love her, and go back into Max's glass PICU room. She's still asleep, thank god.

I spend a long few minutes listening to the beeping and whirring of machines and monitors before I allow myself to cry.


	58. Heart

**047: Heart **

_March 2024_

_Four days later_

"Did Gwen pick those out?"

I follow Max's eyes to the pink and green balloons that are tied to our mailbox. There's a silver one in the center of the balloon bouquet that says 'Welcome Home.'

"She's missed you." I reply as I pull my SUV into the driveway next to Kerry's Volvo. "We all have."

"I was only in the hospital for a few days…" she says quietly. "And either you or Mom were there basically the entire time."

"Well, we still missed you." I inform her, opening my car door and climbing out. She does the same, shouldering her small duffel bag, clutching her pillow, and moving towards the front door.

I offer to take her bag but am shooed away. "I've got it, I've got it…" she says, pushing me back with her casted arm. She chose white, which in contrast to the blue one she had after she broke her foot a few years ago, is considerably boring.

Once we arrive at the front door, I allow her to push it open and walk in first. Before I can even see inside our house, I hear an unmistakable high-pitched screech. Stepping through the threshold, I see Gwen dancing around Maxine.

"Welcome home, welcome home, welcome home!" She chants to her older sister. Stopping for a moment, she looks up at the high school senior and asks, "Can I give you a hug? Will I hurt you?"

Max is obviously taken aback, staring at her sister before sputtering out an answer. "Uh…sure. Okay." She says, holding out her arms for the lanky redhead.

Gwen rushes into them, squeezing her older sister probably a bit too tightly. "Can I sign your cast?" She asks once she's retreated from her sister's arms.

Max shrugs and nods simultaneously. "Later, probably…" she says vaguely before she drops her bag and pillow off by the stairs and escapes down the hall toward the bathroom.

Both Gwen and I watch her go, the confusion I feel somehow manifesting itself on her face. "Did I do something wrong?" She asks quietly after a moment.

I run my hand through her hair lovingly. "Oh, sweetie, not at all…don't forget Max is still recovering; just like you are. It's going to take some time until everyone is back to normal." I reassure her, though I know it's probably not simply the recently closed chest tube incision or her fractured arm that's causing Max distress. "Speaking of: how's the noggin been feeling today?" I ask, changing the subject.

Gwen shrugs. "It doesn't hurt as much as it did yesterday—Mom says I should be as good as new in a few more days."

I give her a soft smile. "I'm glad to hear that." I reply, heading for the stairs. "I'm going to go talk to mom—just give your sister a little bit of space for a while, okay?"

Gwen nods and heads for the couch, plopping down on the overstuffed cushions just as I ascend the first couple of stairs.

Upstairs, I drop off Max's duffel bag and pillow and then head to the very end of the hall where the door to our bedroom is half open. I push it open and step inside.

Going unnoticed, I pause to take in the image before me: she's sitting on our bed, her back against the wooden headboard, and is surrounded by piles of paperwork that vary in height. One of her many pairs of reading glasses are perched on her nose and her fading red hair is pulled into a small, soft ponytail. She's completely engrossed in whatever she's reading and I clear my throat to get her attention.

"Oh, Kim!" She starts, her eyes widening in surprise. "I didn't hear you come in. When did you get home? Is everything okay with Max?"

I slip out of my shoes and take a seat on an empty spot at the end of the bed. "About ten minutes ago—she's okay, I think. It's hard to tell."

She nods knowingly. "It's always 'hard to tell' with Max, isn't it?"

I nod slowly, thinking about how her disposition and attitude have change since the accident. At first, I attributed it solely to the shock of having been in an accident that sent both she and her little sister to the hospital. Then, I thought it was a result of her having to stay in the hospital for an extended period. Now, after seeing how she reacted to Gwen's cheerful presence, I have a creeping suspicion that there's something else bothering her…

"Penny?" Kerry asks, pushing her glasses up onto her head. The way she does it causes her bangs to move from their position covering her forehead and stick up at an odd angle.

I shake my head and smile, "Oh, it's nothing." No need to worry her. I glance at the papers around her, "What's all of this?"

She roles her eyes and groans in obvious disgust. "These," she points to the smaller stack sitting next to her left thigh, "are all the research proprosals I'm willing to approve; these," she points to the significantly larger one on her right, "are the ones I'm not willing to approve; and these," she signals toward the largest stack that rests between her legs, "are the ones I still have to go over."

I raise a sympathetic eyebrow, "Anything particularly interesting?"

"You know McKinnley? James, or maybe it's Jonathon McKinley? The third year?" She asks, "His is rather intriguing. He's hypothesizing that—" Kerry stops short. I follow her unwavering gaze toward the doorway, turning in my seat. There stands Maxine, her eyes red and cheeks glistening with tears. "Sweetie? What's wrong?" Kerry asks, motioning for Maxine to join us on the bed.

Max slowly meanders her way over and drops onto our king sized bed next to Kerry. "I—I can't-t look at-t her-r…" she stammers, suddenly crying very hard, "I-I almost-t ki-killed her but-t she's-she's sill s-so hap-py to see me…" she pushes out before falling into Kerry's lap.

Kerry remains silent, her weathered hand stroking the blonde curls. Our eyes meet and I see my own worry reflected in her expression. I begin to speak as Kerry sooths her. "You didn't almost kill her, Max…you were in an accident. Someone was drunk and hit your car."

She sobs harder at that. We let her cry, sharing a silent understanding that she needs to let it out. For many long minutes we sit that way, Kerry and I listening to her gut wrenching sobs, until they recede into quieter sobs, hiccups, and then eventual silence.

"Max," I begin again, "you do know this wasn't your fault, right?"

Without picking her head up off of Kerry's lap, she responds; her voice is rough and broken, "Yes it was…"

Kerry's eyebrows furrow. "Why do you say that?" She asks.

Max inhales deeply and shakily. "I wasn't…I wasn't paying attention. Gwen was in the front seat and we were talking. Then everything was really bright, and then it was black." She shudders. "I let her sit in the front seat, I wasn't paying attention, and then we crashed. It's my fault."

Kerry and I, yet again, exchange looks. We had known Gwen was in the front seat, but Max's confession to having been distracted is new. Despite the repercussions of her actions—the majority of which she is currently experiencing—the accident was not her fault. At least not legally. "The other driver was intoxicated, Max. He had a blood alcohol level of 0.2…that's over two times the legal limit. He was in no condition to be driving. It was his fault." Kerry explains firmly.

"But Gwen was in the front seat…I let her sit there…" Max mutters, her voice thick with guilt.

Kerry nods, "Yes, you did. And you shouldn't have; it was a bad decision. Now you know why that's a rule and all we can do is move forward, okay?"

Max nods her head and sits up slowly.

"That means you have to forgive yourself…" I tell her gently. "We have forgiven you, Gwen has obviously forgiven you, so now you just have to forgive yourself."

Kerry puts her arms around the teenager and kisses the crown of the blond head.

Max moves her head in affirmation against Kerry chest before puling away. "I think I better go let Gwen sign my cast before she begins to think I hate her or something…" Max jokes quietly as she climbs off the bed.

We watch as she goes and then, when she has disappeared in the stairway, I let out a long breath. "Why does everything have to be so hard for her?" I ask, my heart feeling heavy and tired.

Kerry shakes her head, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "She'll get past this. We all will." She says.

Somewhere inside, deep inside, I know she's right.

We always get past 'this.'


	59. And

_June 2024_

"Are you sure you've done this before?" Maxine asks, evidently concerned about how her hair is going to turn out in the hands of her mother. Her very capable mother.

"Yes;" I respond patiently, "about a thousand times. Give or take."

She sighs audibly and I begin pulling her damp, curly mane through the round brush while holding a blow dryer over it. Twenty minutes and a lot of upper body work later, and her tight, corkscrew curls have been pulled straight with eloquent banana curls at the ends.

"Beautiful." I comment when I've finished. "Absolutely beautiful."

Maxine peers into the hand mirror, first looking at herself then turning so my own face is in the reflection. "I look a lot like you, you know."

I give her a small smile through the mirror and a kiss on the cheek. "You better go put your dress on; you'll need to leave soon and your Mom and I want pictures before you go."

She nods, rises from the ottoman, and turns to me. Suddenly and surprisingly, she wraps her arms around me in a hug. "Thank you."

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak.

* * *

><p>"Eli, you really need to go get dressed." I say and sign simultaneously.<p>

He raises one dark eyebrow. This is the first time I've been able to see such expression in a while, I realize, because his long, flowing hair has recently been cut to what many would consider a "clean shaven" look. Per Kim's and my request, of course.

"I have 20 minutes." He argues.

"Better safe than sorry." I comment, pointing toward the stairs. "Go now, please."

He sighs but agrees, standing from the stool he'd been occupying and heading upstairs.

He's back 13 minutes later with everything but his cap, robe and bowtie on. Sheepishly, he asks me to tie the latter.

I take the piece of smooth, shiny material from his hand and loop it around his neck. Expertly, I tie the emerald green fabric into a perfect bow. After tightening it, I pat him on the chest. "Perfect," I sign.

He smiles a faint smile and bends down to kiss my cheek. He signs "thank you" when he pulls away.

* * *

><p>"Ready for some pictures?" I ask Kerry when I enter the kitchen.<p>

She holds up the digital camera in confirmation. "Let's round up the troops."

As if cued, Eli enters the kitchen. He's striking and handsome, his new haircut, pressed khakis, white shirt and bowtie making him appear 5 years older than he really is. "Wow," I sign toward him, "look at you."

He shows me that shy smile and shakes his head. "Is Max ready?" He asks out loud.

In response, my eldest daughter steps through the threshold that leads to the living room and taps her brother on the shoulder.

"You look okay, I guess…" He says sarcastically, peering at her royal blue chiffon dress and metallic sandals.

She rolls her eyes with a smile and swats at his arm.

Kerry suddenly claps her hands together and corrals us to the backyard. "We've got a schedule, people." She says, her tone mostly playful.

As we descend the steps, Eli turns to Maxine and offers an arm for her to hold onto; my heart instantly warms at his display of chivalry.

"Okay, in front of that forsythia." Kerry directs. When they both stare at her questioningly, she adds, "The yellow bush."

They nod, head over, and take up an awkward stance; Max is standing up straight with her hands clasped together in front of her and Eli has his clasped behind him.

"It's okay to touch each other; you did share your mother's womb for nine months." She directs.

The siblings share an awkward, questioning glance. It's as if they're speaking, I notice, yet no words are being exchanged. At the end of the moment, Eli nods and wraps his arm around Max's waist while she wraps one around his. He turns and whispers something into her ear. Laughter erupts from them both. After a few pictures they pause to put on their caps, gowns, and various tassels, sashes, and medals. Maxine's gown is a crisp white, but the four tassels and one medal around her neck make the ensemble bright and cheerful. It's all very appropriate, I decide, for someone who'll be attending Emory University in the fall. Eli's black robe is decorated with only two tassels – honor's society and art honor's society – but the cap that sits atop his head is decorated expertly with his original artwork, which of course is fitting for someone who's about to begin studying at one of the finest art schools in the country.

As Kerry snaps a few more photos, calling for Gwen and Henry to join us in the backyard, I'm happy to have a moment to reflect. My twins—my babies—are graduating high school today. Granted, they're graduating from two different high schools at the same exact time, resulting in my only being able to attend one of the ceremonies, but nothing could push away the overwhelming pride and love I currently feel.

"Mom, are you crying?" Max asks from in front of the yellow plant.

I snap out of my thoughtful daze and smile, nodding my head and wiping my tears away. "I'm just very happy." I say softly.

* * *

><p>After a day of ceremonies, barbeques, and 90-degree heat, I'm happy to collapse on the swing that sits on our front porch. The sun's setting, casting an orange glow over our quiet street. Kim walks out, carrying two glasses of wine. I steady the swing with one foot as she sits, take a glass from her, and then resume swinging.<p>

"They graduated high school, Ker." She says quietly with the same wistful look on her face as when Max caught her tearing up in the backyard.

I place my hand over hers and squeeze while continuing to swing on.


	60. How

_September 2024_

"So, are you ready to get back to school?" I ask Gwen from where I'm kneeling in one part of the vegetable garden.

She's lying on her back in the grass in front of me, a straw hat protecting her face from the bright sunrays that are piercing the rest of her pale body. But for the red hair, she looks so like Max, and subsequently like Kim as she lounges like that; it would be startling if I weren't so accustomed to it.

Pushing the hat off her face, she looks at me and shrugs. "I think so. I'm gonna miss spending so much time with you and Mom and Max and Eli and Henry, though. This summer was so great 'cause everyone was around and we actually got to do stuff together."

I nod. "That was pretty nice, wasn't it?" I ask, thinking of the handful of family trips and min-vacations we took before having to drop the three others off at their various schools in California, Georgia, and New York.

She nods, "I love Wisconsin, which is weird because there's not much goin' on there, you know? But It was great. I'm glad we went." She says, speaking of the week we spent at Kim's family's cabin in Wisconsin. In all actuality it isn't so much a 'cabin' as it is a luxurious lakeside vacation house, which is probably one of the reasons the kids have always been so willing to stay there for a week or so during the summer, but it's still a great retreat from the smog, noise pollution, and overpopulation of the greater Chicago area.

Having planted the last of my seeds, I clap my hands together and watch in satisfaction as a cloud of dust erupts in front of my eyes. "Ready for lunch?" I ask, still kneeling.

She nods and is on her feet in an instant, her fast twitch muscle fibers reacting instantaneously.

Oh, to be young.

"Need some help?" She asks sweetly, holding out her hand.

I'm only moderately—and completely unnecessarily—embarrassed by these offers as of late. My second most prominent fear when Sandy and I had Henry was the prognosis of my mobility and how that'd affect him. The first was Sandy dying. Thankfully the former didn't become too much of a problem, but now I find myself facing that struggle again as my artificial hip reaches the end of its functional life. Subsequently, I've had to make a handful of small accommodations; nothing major, just a few things here and there that make life a little bit easier. One of said accommodations is asking for and accepting help when necessary. That was Kim's idea.

I smile and hold out my hand, my heart warming as she expertly takes it in hers while clutching my elbow with her other hand. Only a single, sharp pain shoots from my groin through my thigh as I rise. Not bad after so long spent kneeling.

"Grilled cheese?" She asks hopefully, still holding my hand in her own. It's a loose grasp and is one that reminds me of her as a little girl.

"You're going to turn into a grilled cheese," I tease, ascending the steps. I had never heard of, seen, or met anyone with such an intense affection for grilled cheese sandwiches until we had Gwen.

Gwen shrugs. "Well at least I'll be something good."

The sandwiches are assembled and grilled quickly; Gwen's on whole wheat and mine on rye but both with cheddar cheese, tomato, and basil in the center. We've taken our plates and glasses out to the back porch and are sitting on the Adirondack chairs eating quietly when she suddenly turns to me.

Feeling her eyes boring holes into the side of my head, I slowly turn to face her. "What's up?"

"Are you going to have a surgery soon?"

My eyebrows creep closer to my hairline in surprise. I am, in fact, planning on having my hip replacement revised in late October. The only people who know about it, however, are my orthopedist, Archie Morris (by necessity – he is the chief of the ER and the one who makes my schedule, after all), Kim, and myself. I've been putting it off for about seven years, truthfully, and have only have been seriously planning it for eight months or so.

"At the end of October," I nod, watching for her reaction. Her face remains neutral and open and there's curiosity visible in her eyes. I'm curious, too; how did she find out about this? "How did you know?"

She begins by taking a casual sip of her lemonade. Then, she responds, "It wasn't too hard to figure out; you've had a lot of doctor's appointments lately. I know because 'Northwestern Orthopedics' keeps popping up on the caller I.D. and I found one of those little appointment cards in the kitchen. And you always seem a little uncomfortable, like something hurts and you can't get away from it. I don't know; I just figured it out." She sips her lemonade again. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

She never ceases to amaze me with her insight, intelligence, and compassion. "I'm going to be okay," I giver he a small smile while nodding reassuringly, "You know, Mom and I were going to talk to you about it when it got closer to the date, but since you've used your investigative skills so well we may as well talk about it now."

She nods interestedly, apparently unafraid and unfazed by the prospect of her mother going under the knife. Good.

I explain it all to her, from the original malformation that necessitated the first surgery, to how a hip replacement works and why mine is no longer working, and all the way to how my upcoming surgery and recovery are going to work. She doesn't seem too pleased that I'll have to go through a lengthy and relatively painful recovery, but she's all together interested in what I'm saying and asks innumerable questions. By the end of our conversation, the remains of our sandwiches are chilled but I feel much better about her knowing.

"Thank you for telling me everything—I like it when I know what's going on." Gwen says honestly.

I reach over and give her small, smooth hand a squeeze. "Well, thank you for asking."

* * *

><p>"How did she find out?" Kim asks from the bathroom that adjoins our bedroom. I've just told her about the conversation Gwen and I shared over lunch this afternoon, highlighting the incredible, though moderately scary intuition our youngest child so obviously possesses.<p>

"She just _did_." I respond from bed. I'm uncomfortable, my hip angrily reminding me of the time spent in the garden this afternoon, and I can't quite seem to find a suitable position. "She's your daughter, after all."

The bathroom light is turned off and she joins me in bed. "How do you mean?"

"She has a psychiatrist's intuition, Kim." I explain, attempting to adjust my posture to lessen my discomfort. "I bet you were the same way when you were younger."

She chuckles and shakes her head. Her only audible response is a yawn.

Finally, I lie back against the pillows and give up on finding a bearable position.

Through the dark, Kim finds my hand with her own, lacing her long, cool fingers through mine. "Just a few more months and this will all be over." She murmurs soothingly. She's not talking about Gwen anymore.

She's not wrong, though she's not entirely right, either. She's right in the sense that these long nights of pain will be done once I fully finish recovering from the surgery. But that's not all there is to it, and that's what makes her statement wrong. For her- for almost everyone, really- joint replacement, resurfacing, revision, et cetera seems like a fix-all, sort of bandaid solution; have malformed or worn out hip? Put some metal and cement in there, or maybe some screws and pins and you'll be good as new. In reality, however, the problems that are eliminated by the surgery are only replaced by new concerns: no bending past 90 degrees, no kneeling, no sleeping on the affected side, no sex, narcotic haze, no driving, wound care, risk of infection, nerve damage, dislocation...Of course, they're mostly only short term concerns, and some are only possibilities, but they prove that one surgery isn't going to make everything okay again; it didn't the first time, and it's not going to this time.

"Right, Ker?" Kim asks.

I nod against the pillows. "Yeah, sure."


	61. Moon

**054: Moon**

_October 2024_

The alarm clock goes off for only a half beat before I reach out and silence it. I don't have to glance at the digital display to know that it's four thirty in the morning; the moonlight seeping through the curtains would be enough of an indicator if I didn't already know that I'd be waking up at such an unseemly hour.

"Ker?" Kim's voice is thick with sleep.

"Hm?" I respond.

"Just making sure you're up…" She says groggily, turning on her side to face my shoulder. Through the dark I can just hardly see the glint of her eyes.

"I'm up." I confirm.

Sensing my apprehension in the same way she almost always senses my deepest, most buried feelings, she traces her thumb along the outline of my jaw and finishes with her fingers to my lips. "Want to take one last shower?" she asks after a moment.

"Is that supposed to be like The Last Supper?"

She chuckles.

"Join me?"

Her only response is to roll out of bed and head into the en suite bathroom where she turns on the dim lights and starts the water. I pull myself out of bed and join her.

"How are you feeling?" She asks as we stand under the hot spray.

I look up at her. Her face is blurry without my contacts and the steam only obstructs my vision further. "Physically or mentally?"

"Either. Both." She responds. "Both."

"I know that however I'm feeling now, physically, is nothing compared to how I'll feel tomorrow but is far worse than how I'll feel in a few weeks." I respond truthfully. I've given this some thought. "And I'm a little scared." I'm too tired—not just because I got too few hours of sleep—to try to hide anything I'm feeling. She knows that, and that's why she asked.

Kim's only response is to nod her head and squeeze a dollop of shampoo—my shampoo—into her hands. She motions for me to turn around and, once I've managed to do so, she massages the substance into my hair. When she's finished and I begin to do the same to her, she shakes her head. "I'll still be able to shower at my own free will after today."

I drop my hands and let her continue her ministrations. Soon, we're both dressed—me in dark jeans and a thick turtleneck, she in jeans, an Emory University tee shirt, and a fleece jacket—and in the kitchen.

"You sure you don't mind me drinking this?" She asks, pointing to the coffee maker.

I wave my hand as if I was pushing the air toward her. "Being NPO is a pain but it's better than getting into a car accident because you're going through withdrawals."

She smiles, acknowledging but not commenting on my dramatics.

"Mom?"

Kim and I both turn so we're facing the kitchen's entryway. Gwen is standing there, her long red hair in a mangled mess on one side of her head and her eyelids drooping slightly. "Hi baby…Mom was going to come wake you up before we left."

"I set my alarm." She says calmly, stepping into the kitchen and coming to stand at the kitchen island. "I want to come see you right away, okay?"

I nod firmly. "Hopefully you can come tonight, and if not then you'll be the first person to see me tomorrow morning."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." I tell her, brushing her hair back out of her face. "Now you should go get dressed and get your things together—Kathryn's mom is expecting you soon."

She nods and turns around, retracing her steps until she's upstairs. Minutes later she's back in the kitchen, dressed and with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Twenty minutes later she's been dropped off at her best friend's house, and twenty minutes after that Kim and I are checked into pre-op.

"You're the first of the day, Dr. Weaver…"

I try not to glare at the pre-op nurse who, after she's had me change into one of those god-forsaken, opened-back gowns, has stripped me of all my belongings, and has stuck me not once, not twice, but three times in attempt to get a flash, is trying to make small talk with me. "Well isn't that something." My response is short and clipped.

She smiles in spite of my foul attitude. "Dr. Wilson and Dr. Khaled will be in to talk to you soon."

With the nurse gone, Kim turns to me. "You need to perk up a bit, Ker." She says softly. "She's just trying to be nice."

"I know, I'm sorry." I do know and I am sorry.

Kim smiles. "You don't need to be sorry, Kerry—I know this is hard."

I nod once, my eyes scanning the pre-op area. "These next couple weeks are not going to be fun, Kim. They're going to be painful and long and I'm probably going to be a bitch. I won't want to be, but I'm probably going to be." I tell her apologetically and she nods; she knows this. "I'm more nervous than I was last time, I think." I add after a long moment.

As any good psychiatrist would, she wordlessly nods, urging me to go on.

"Things are so different now—I'm different, my life is better, I'm happier, I'm not so obsessed with my career." I shrug. "Different things were important then."

"Like?"

"I don't—I was wrapped up in my identity, my disability, then. Now…" I laugh wryly and shake my head at myself, "now I'm afraid I'm going to be disabled again if this isn't successful."

Kim remains quiet for a long moment; she's both thinking and waiting to see if I'll continue. I know all of her tricks by now. I don't continue, so she begins. "Why does being disabled scare you?"

I wring my hands in my lap. "I—I don't want to be who I was before. The crutch, the disability, the limitations. The pain. They're all a part of who I was before." I pause and laugh wryly at myself. "God, how much of an ableist can I be?"

Kim shakes her head. "That's not ableism, that's being human. You've changed and you're happy with who you are; it's only natural to be afraid of reverting." Her voice is soft. "But I'm not sure if I believe that a potential physical change will mean that something will change emotionally or mentally. You're different now for many more reasons other than no longer being disabled, aren't you?"

We stare at one another for a long moment. "You're good at that."

Her eyebrows arch curiously. "At what?"

"Being a psychiatrist. And my wife."

I'm lingering on her smile when the curtain slides open slowly. It's Dr. Khaled, my orthopedist, and Dr. Wilson, the anesthesiologist.

"Good morning Dr. Weaver…" They both greet me. They're wearing navy blue scrubs, something that strikes me as odd as I've only ever seen them in khakis, a shirt and tie, and lab coat. The change in wardrobe makes everything seem much more real, much more unsettling. Once Dr. Kahled is done giving me the rundown of 'today's procedure' and Dr. Wilson discusses the many risks of anesthesia, the latter offers me something to 'calm my nerves.' I readily accept.

The two young doctors leave and a nurse injects various drugs into my intravenous line. I'm not sure if it's the drugs or if everything really is happening this fast, but I'm suddenly in a reclined position and rolling down the hall.

"I can't go past here, Ker…" Kim says when we come to a sudden halt.

I look ahead and see the sign for the operating room; she's right, she probably can't go past this point. "I…I'll see you later, then." I say.

She nods and leans over the gurney's railing, her blonde curls cascading not only over her face but mine as well. Her lips find mine. "Yes, you will. I love you."

"Me too—I love you too." I say, picking my hand up from the bed and placing it over hers. She places her other hand over mine and squeezes, creating a sort of vice. She lets go only when the gurney starts moving again.

I watch her until it hurts my eyes and neck to be in such a twisted, unnatural position, then stare ahead as we journey down the bright, sterile hallway.

Here we go.


	62. Writer's Choice: 5 Years Later (II)

_November 2029_

"Gwen? Gwen, you need to wake up sweetie…" I'm sitting on the edge of her twin-sized bed, my forefinger grazing her sharp jawline with a light touch. "Gwen…"

The seventeen year old stirs, groaning in contempt. Slowly, she opens her eyes. "Uh…hi…"

"It's six thirty." I say apologetically.

The teenager starts and sits up with a board-straight back. For a moment, I'm afraid she's going to go back down in a heap as gravity pulls the blood from her head, but she only pushes her blankets back from her lean body and slides past me and off the bed. As she walks out the door of her bedroom, she waves over her head. "Thanks—I'll be ready to go in, like, eight minutes. Ten, tops."

I hear the click of the bathroom door from where I'm sitting, alone, on her bed. I glance around her room and am delighted to see that it is, for once, relatively clean. I warned her last night that, since she, Kerry, and I are going to be in New York for Thanksgiving and are leaving this morning, she would have to clean it before we left or else she'd have a lot more than a messy room to deal with when we got back. Thankfully for us all, she listened.

I'm still sitting on Gwen's bed when Kerry appears in the doorway. "'She ready?"

"Almost. Give her a few more minutes." I respond, standing up. "How about you?"

Her shoulders drop a little bit. She sighs. "Doesn't it feel…well, weird to be going to our son's apartment for Thanksgiving?"

I smile sympathetically, knowing that Kerry's been feeling a little displaced since Henry and Katelyn, his girlfriend, invited the three of us, Eli and his girlfriend, and Maxine to celebrate Thanksgiving in their New York City apartment rather than have everyone come to Chicago for the holiday. She and I both know it's nothing personal; our kids are growing up, and Henry's at the stage where he wants to show off his life and what he's accomplished. Still, I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel very, very strange to be not only traveling for Thanksgiving, but to be traveling to our grown son's apartment. Grown son and grown son's girlfriend's apartment.

"Yeah," I respond, "it feels pretty weird." I rise from the bed and join her in the doorway. I lean down and kiss her, mostly because I can.

Someone clears their throat and we back away from each other. Gwen stands there, eyebrows furrowed. "Um…I need to, like, get in there." She says, eyeing the room—her bedroom—that we're blocking.

Kerry smiles and I chuckle. We both step aside.

Fifteen minutes later a taxi is packed with our suitcases and bags and we're heading to O'Hare. Two hours after that we're en route to JFK Regional in New York. Two and a half hours later my arms are wrapped tightly around Henry.

"It is so good to see you," I hear Kerry say to him after they've had their own hug, "You look well."

He nods, smiles, and grabs Katelyn's hand. "I am well." He glances at her with a smile. "Anyway, we should probably get your stuff and grab a couple cabs. We didn't drive—too much traffic this time of day, and there's not much room in the Honda anyway."

I don't doubt that Henry's eleven-year-old Civic would be a little cramped, but the taxi isn't exactly roomie, either. Still, we make it back to their apartment in good time. It's cute, and the outside sort of reminds me of the brownstone Kerry lived in when we first met. The inside, however, is about three times smaller than the Chicago townhouse. Though I'm a little worried about where we're all going to sleep, it's quaint, pretty, and inviting.

We're shedding our shoes and jackets and pushing our luggage to the side when a familiar voice rings in my ears. "God, it took you long enough!" I turn to see Maxine.

The twenty four year old is smirking. Her hair is as curly and light, golden blonde as it's always been, but is cut short enough to frame her face. I think she's thinner than she was in August but she looks just as healthy. She's wearing dark jeans, a white blouse, and an emerald green cardigan. Her feet are bare and I can clearly see the pink scar that extends from her smallest toe to the base of her ankle on her right foot.

"When did you get here?" Gwen screeches, pushing past us and rushing toward her sister. They greet each other with an embrace that far outshines any hug I've received or expect to receive today.

Maxine laughs, her arm now wrapped around her little sister's waist. "I took the train up last night." She says, kissing the crown of Gwen's head. "Go inside; Eli and Meg are in the living room-slash-kitchen-slash-guest bedroom."

Maxine gently directs Gwen, Henry, and Kate towards the hallway and then stays with Kerry and I in the foyer. She extends her arms and hugs us both at once. "It's good to see you."

I kiss her left cheek and can hear Kerry kissing her right. We join the others deeper in the house, knowing that we'll have plenty of time to catch up with each of them individually as the week goes on.

Walking into the living-kitchen-guest room, I see Eli and Gwen on the ivory colored couch and Meg, Eli's girlfriend, sitting in a nearby leather chair. Over the half wall that apparently separates the dining area from the sitting area, I catch a glimpse of Henry and Katelyn moving around. As Kerry and I make ourselves comfortable on the loveseat, the couple appears with hands full of coffee cups.

"Aren't you two quite the hosts?" Kerry teases, accepting the mug from Katelyn.

Maxine snorts. "Yeah, that's why we're all staying on the floor and couch this weekend."

My eyes widen, surprised, "'All' of us?"

Max waves her hand dismissively. "You and Mom are sleeping in Henry and Kate's room. The rest of us are sleeping in here." She says, opening her arms as if to frame the relatively tiny area.

"Hey, we have the spare room, too," Henry interjects. "That's where Kate and I are staying."

I can feel Kerry stiffen next to me. "I wish you'd told us; we could have easily gotten a hotel room." she says firmly.

Henry shakes his head vigorously. "No, no, it's fine. We want it this way." He assures her. "We'll have a great time, getting all close and reacquainted and stuff."

Kerry relaxes a bit. "Okay, but at least stay in your own bedroom. We can't cause that much of an imposition. We'll stay in the second bedroom."

Katelyn raises a single eyebrow sharply. "On a horribly cheap futon with a lumpy mattress?"

I respond before Kerry can. "Your room will be fine. To make up for the imposition, Kerry will make breakfast. Every morning."

"That works for me." Kate says, grinning. Kerry made a huge breakfast the first time Kate came to Illinois with Henry two years ago. While we're all pretty much used to Kerry's gourmet cooking, Kate had never before had the decadent experience of eating Kerry's crème brûlée French toast. The look on the then-law student's face when she took her first bite left Kerry happier than I'd seen her in many, many weeks.

Changing the subject, I turn to Eli and Meg. "When did you two get here?" I ask.

"Uh…this morning. A few hours ago." Eli says. He isn't singing, which makes me realize that I hadn't signed, either. I don't feel too horrible about my lapse in memory—beginning his first year of college, Eli revealed to us that he was using ASL less and less and was instead relying more heavily on lip reading, his residual hearing, and his own voice to communicate.

"The traffic wasn't nearly as bad as we anticipated." Meg says. "We weren't planning to get here until late this afternoon."

I find it interesting that the young dancer isn't signing either as, while she's neither deaf nor hard of hearing, she grew up signing with and interpreting for her deaf parents. I guess, after twenty-three years of being surrounded by deaf people and two years of dating a deaf person, she knows when her skills are and are not needed.

"I like the new hair, Meg." Gwen says.

Meg smiles as she runs her left hand through her hair, black nails standing out against the turquoise, royal, and sky blue strands. "Thanks, G." Everyone else, I note, remains quiet; the bright, unnaturally colored hair does not reside within neither my own nor Kerry's spectrum of taste, and I have a feeling our J. Crew and Ralph Lauren wearing eldest daughter feels the same. Henry and Kate, I'm sure, have never given the vivid locks a second thought.

We promptly dissolve into a handful of small conversations: Meg and Eli discuss her most recent dance production and his last year of graduate school with Kerry; Gwen, Max, and Katelyn talk about the former's last year of high school and plans for next year; and Henry and I chat about how he's making out with his new batch of seventeen-and-sixteen year old history students.

The way he describes working in a New York public school reminds me almost of what it's like to work in a County hospital: they're both underfunded, understaffed, and underperforming, but the people who work there do so with love and passion for what they're doing. The pride in his voice as he describes the day-to-day interactions he shares with his students and the impact he hopes to have on their lives is beautiful.

"I really, really love it. I can't imagine being anywhere else." He says with a huge, genuine smile.

We continue to talk—all of us, in our own separate conversations—until the distinct, albeit startlingly loud, sound of a stomach growling creates a silence.

Gwen giggles, "Sorry."

Henry offers to order out but Kate shakes her head. "Let's go out—it's not too cold, we can head over to Iris'; they have a great lunch menu."

Agreeing with the plan, we disperse from the living room, each searching for our coats and shoes.

In the entryway, Kerry and I steal a moment of solitude. "Having fun?" I ask her as I step into my shoes.

I watch as a few different emotions play across her face. "I'm not sure if 'fun' is the right word…" she admits quietly, her eyes focused not on my face but on the buttons of her coat she's nimbly working on.

"Then what is?" I push, a little surprised at her response.

Still adjusting her coat, Kerry responds, "They're so grown up, Kim. Henry was a little boy yesterday. That's how it feels, anyway." She sighs frustratedley and finally looks at me, "It's great to see everyone, it is, but there are these moments—these moments when they're talking and I suddenly feel terrified." Her voice, still hushed, is hoarse with desire to keep quit and perhaps some desperation. "Gwen's graduating high school. Henry and Kate are going to get married soon, I'm sure. Eli and Max are going to be out in the working world. It just doesn't stop."

I wrap my arms around her, knowing that any words I may have just aren't going to suffice in reassuring her that everything's going to be okay.

"Henry! Henry, stop that…give me my damn shoe!"

Still holding each other, Kerry and I turn our heads to peer down the hallway; after all these years, Maxine's screeching no longer has the ability to make us jump. The blonde is standing with her hands on her coat-clad hips, narrowing her eyes at her older brother who stands about ten feet away from her. On the other side of her is Eli, who is standing in a ready-to-catch position. It's a classic Monkey in the Middle set up, and with a conspiratorial nod towards his brother, Henry tosses the boot over Maxine's head. Eli catches it with ease.

"That's pretty pathetic, Max; you've got, like, five inches on him." Gwen says from the other room, laughing and glancing at Henry then back at her sister.

"And they've got excessive amounts of hand-eye coordination." Max retorts, now turning around to face Eli. Though I can't see her face, I know she's pouting. "Please, Eli. Give me my shoe."

Instantly, Eli's face softens. He moves to hand the leather boot back to his sister but, just as Max extends her arm to grab it, he tosses it swiftly to an expecting Gwen.

"Damnit, Eli!" Max exclaims; she's unable to contain her amusement and laughs.

"Maybe I don't have to worry about them growing up, after all…" Kerry says dryly, her arms still around me.

I smile, kiss her, and then go back to watching the circus that is our family. "I think you're right."


	63. Work

March 2029

The house is quiet when I get home, something that I've gotten used to over the past few years. With only three people living here the house is always quiet. Except when Kerry has her music on, of course. But she doesn't have her music on tonight. Instead, I find her sitting in a comfortable silence at the kitchen island, her face illuminated by her laptop's screen and a mug - probably filled with tea - sitting conveniently at her left hand.

"Hello," I say, lowering my voice and elongating the word.

She starts, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. A smile finds her face once she realizes it's me. Or, at least when she realizes I'm not an intruder. "I didn't hear you come in."

I shrug as I go to the refrigerator, grab a bottle of water, and sit down across from her. "I'm pretty sly."

She nods sleepily at my lame joke. "How was work?"

Well, here it comes. I was hoping for a little more small talk before I had to bring this up. Maybe a few anecdotes from the ER or perhaps some news from either of the twins or Henry. Instead, I'm going to have to jump right in... "Good, it was good. Slow. I just had a few sessions and a staff meeting."

"Not a bad way to spend eight hours."

I shrug. Here we go. "Well it has become a bit tedious." I reach into my briefcase and extract a Manila folder. It makes a small slapping noise when I place it in between us. "Which is why I think I should consider this offer."

Kerry's expression remains neutral, displaying only a small trace of openness and interest. She motions with her hand toward the folder, silently asking if she can take a look at it. I nod vehemently.

The few moments it takes her to look through the printed email I received from Harvard Medical School's Department of Psychiatry yesterday feel painstakingly long. When she has finally finished, she looks up at me with a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Harvard, huh?" Her voice is thick with pride despite her calm facial expression.

Unintentionally, I start to laugh. Before I know it, I have tears streaming down my cheeks and have to clamp my hand over my mouth. The excitement I've been containing for the past thirty-odd hours erupts into hysterics. "I couldn't believe it. I still can't."

"I can." She climbs off her stool and comes around to my side of the counter to wrap her arms loosely around my neck. "Congratulations," she says huskily before she leans in for a kiss that ends up lasting until we're both a little short of breath.

"Are you ready to stop practicing full time?"

After I dropped the initial bomb, Kerry and I moved to the living room with two glasses, a bottle of wine, and leftover homemade pizza to discuss the details. "I love what I do—I always have loved what I've done - but I can only see so many patients and write so many 'scripts before feeling like I'm not doing enough. I've always been cognizant of that, of how emotionally and mentally taxing this profession is and of the burn-out rate of my colleagues, but I think I'm just now starting to really feel it." I sigh, fearing I'm not making myself clear enough. "I feel that, with chairing the department and formally teaching, I'll be using my 20-whatever years of knowledge and experience to reach a group of people that I haven't yet reached. For that, I'll happily give up practicing."

Kerry's nodding, thankfully understanding my sentiments. "And you want to leave Chicago?"

"Do you?"

"I'm not the one with family in nearly every Midwestern state."

I shrug. "My parents are gone, the nieces and nephews are almost all grown up, my siblings are…well, you know. Aside from Eli, our family lives out East now." I pause for a moment then look at Kerry with a knowing smile. "Abby and Luka are out East, too."

"Lori and her family are, as well." She adds, "I think it'll be good for us to be closer than a plane ride's distance from the kids."

"Though they might not be so fond of the idea..."

Kerry waves her hand dismissively. "They'll love it; no more paying for plane tickets or driving for hours for holidays or when they just want to see their Moms. And we'll be closer when Henry and Kate start having babies..." Her eyebrows waggle mischievously.

"You might not want to mention that to them when we tell them we're moving;" I laugh, "The poor kids aren't even married yet."

She starts to laugh, too, before she stops with a surprised expression. "'When we tell them?'"

I, too, am a bit surprised by what I've said. "If that's what you want, too..." I say carefully. "You have to want it just as much as I do. And not just for me. I want you to want it for yourself."

"I want this." She nods, undoubtedly as much to herself as to me, "I want this."


	64. Spirit

June 2029

I glance around the living room, still expecting to see photos and artwork on the walls, hunter green curtains hanging from the huge windows, and that overstuffed leather couch against the far wall. Instead, I find nothing but blank walls, cleared floors, and open windows. I know that a walk down the hall or up the stairs will elicit the same views; an empty kitchen, empty bedrooms upstairs, bathrooms inhabited only by the most basic of appliances. The house is barren.

I still find myself wandering aimlessly through the old Victorian. From the living room I ascend the stairs and go to each of the kids' bedrooms. First: Maxine's.

The walls have been a soft pink since the cotton candy color was her favorite when she was six years old. I can vividly remember the weeklong hissy fit she threw when, three months after the paint had been applied, she decided that bright purple was her favorite color. She tried her absolute hardest not to talk to us for those seven days, her young mind thinking that the silence would convince us to repaint her walls. Though the kicking and screaming she resorted to during that week was somewhat disconcerting, nothing was more terrifying than becoming of aware of just how stubborn our daughter was. It kept both Kim and I awake at night for a long time. It still does, sometimes.

The next room over is Eli's. Unlike his sister, the coloring of his bedroom has never been an issue, so the walls are as white as they were the day we moved in. Probably because they were almost always covered in posters, paintings, sketches, and photographs. Eli spent a lot of time in his bedroom growing up—more than our other three kids, at least—and sometimes I regret that. It scared us at first, how he would come home from school and go straight to his room until dinner. We soon learned that was just a side effect of his extremely introverted personality. When he was a teenager—I guess it'd have to have been when he was sixteen or seventeen—he came more out of his shell, developed a larger social circle. Of course, we were happy for him. Very happy. Then we ran into the drug incident and locked him back up for a while. He hated us, then. Absolutely hated us. It was like Maxine's weeklong silent treatment, but extended for a few long months and filled with more door slamming and foot stomping and less kicking and screaming. Thankfully, he got past it, made new friends, and held off with the drugs. Well, at least made his use of them less obvious. At this point, it's probably better not to know what went on behind closed doors.

Between Eli's bedroom and Henry's is the kids' bathroom. Aside from the innumerable baths, a few emotional breakdowns, and the first and last cigarette to ever be smoked in our household, nothing too remarkable happened in there. Well, again, at least not that I know of…

Henry's room: white walls, a big bay window and window seat that overlook the side yard, and the tiniest closet in the house. He picked it out when we first bought the house; he had all four non-master bedrooms to pick from, and when I asked him why he wanted this one, he enthusiastically told me that the window was pretty. Ten or so years later, that window would find itself partially obstructed by piles of clean and dirty clothes, cleats and shin guards, and some schoolwork. In contrast to Eli, Henry was hardly ever in his bedroom. He and Gwen are a lot alike in that sense. As a kid he was always more content to be in the living room or kitchen or another social area of the house and as a teenager he was far too busy with soccer, tutoring, and about ten other activities to do much besides sleep and study in the cozy bedroom.

Across the hall is Gwen's room. It was a study for the first few years we owned the house, but when our youngest came along, we happily relocated our desks, bookshelves, and file cabinets to a small area of the finished basement. From the time she old enough to clean her own room (five) until she had to pack it all up just last week (seventeen), the room was almost constantly in a state of disarray. When she was younger, her cleaning it was a condition to do almost anything she'd consider fun; any request to go to a friend's house, watch TV, or play outside was countered with 'Is your room clean?' and, more times than not, a rushed cleaning session before she returned with a gleeful, 'Of course it is.' It's been interesting, both Kim and I have noted in the past couple years, how she's been able to stay so incredibly busy and organized despite the gaping black hole of a room she lives out of. Kim insists her room is only disorganized because the rest of her life is so orderly and she subsequently needs to have someplace to 'freak out and let loose,' while I think she's always in too much of a rush whenever she's leaving her room to really keep it clean. Hopefully her roommate at Dartmouth is okay with her chronic disorganization, regardless of its cause…

The master bedroom. The beige walls appear lighter without the rosewood furniture, maroon bedding, and matching drapes. For the past twenty-odd years, this room has been a dark sanctuary of sorts. Especially in the early years, when I was still Chief of Staff, Kim was working full days in the psych ward, and we were raising three elementary school-aged children. For a long while, this room saw us collapsing into bed in exhaustion far more often than it saw us doing anything else. It has seen a lot of sex, though. Some dry spells, too. It's heard a lot of angry conversations, passionate arguments, whispered sweet nothings, and some laughter.

Adjoining our bedroom is the en suite bathroom, which has probably seen significantly more than its counterpart has. Mostly, of course, it's just seen bathing and washing, but we've also had our fare share of conversations here. We discussed the broader details of our wedding while in the bath, were in the shower when we officially decided to have Gwen, and were standing at our adjoining sinks when we discussed the logistics of this move just a couple months ago. Kim gave me our first set of rings in that bathtub. Then we had sex. That bathtub has seen a lot of sex. The shower has, too. And the counter. This bathroom really has seen it all. A number of not-so-great things have happened here, too: some arguments, some sickness, one catastrophe. I try not to linger on those, though. I'd rather remember the sex. It was always pretty extraordinary.

The only thing I can remember about the long hallway connecting all of our bedrooms and the bathroom is the one time Maxine and I had a screaming match right outside her bedroom. Funnily enough, I don't even remember what we were so angry about, but I do remember being reduced to tears once locked safely in Kim's and my bathroom. Maxine cried, too, and we resolved our differences later that evening after a long, calm conversation. That was the first time I realized just how alike we are.

The stairs aren't too memorable, either, though Eli falling down them when he was seven or eight does stand out in my mind. He ended up with a tooth through his tongue and a shirt covered in blood. He, of course, was fine. Kim and I, the trained medical professionals, were a wreck. Maxine threw up at the sight.

While the bedroom was a sanctuary Kim and I shared, the kitchen was my own pride and joy. My haven. A fact that's ironic as it's the central most part of our house and a room that I was hardly ever in alone. When I was younger, an area that was inhabited by anyone other than myself could never have been considered a sanctuary, but when Kim and the kids came along, I found that there was no place I'd rather be.

I don't bother going down to the basement; too many steep steps, too dark, and too barren. Not too many memories there, anyway; though our 'office' was technically down there, the only time anyone was actually in the lowest level of our was when the kids had friends over and they wanted to watch TV or a movie or to play one of their video games. Same with the garage; the only thing it did for us was house our cars and give us a place to store seasonal tools and decorations.

Now I'm back in the center of the too-light living room, soaking up what ever is left of this house's spirit. Kim laughed when I told her I thought there was something special about this house, something that's helped us and guided us through these past two decades. She says that it was all us, our kids, and our love for each other. I don't know who's right, and to be honest I don't really care. What I know for sure is that this house and time we spent here was special. Very, very special.


	65. Years

August, 2029

"Are you sure this is the address?" Luka asks skeptically.

We've just pulled into the driveway of the house that is supposed to belong to Kerry and Kim and I'm not in the mood to argue with him. "As sure as I can be without actually seeing them." I respond.

I was a little more than surprised when Kerry called me last month to tell us that she, Kim, and Gwen were moving to Cambridge. They've been in Chicago for a long time, Kerry especially so. I tried to figure out exactly how long after I hung up the phone but things got fuzzy after '98. I was surprised that Kerry didn't move away from the city after Sandy died, but once she and Kim got together I figured they were going to be Illinois for the long haul. Then again, I thought I was going to be in Chicago for a long time, too. Things change, I guess.

Luka and I ascend the stone steps of the little town house. I watch as he runs a hand through his hair. It started graying years ago and is a silvery-white color now. It's still thick, though, and longer than the hair of most men his age.

He rings the doorbell. We wait. I'm sure this is the right address...I'm sure...

"Luka! Abby! Hi!"

Christmas cards and school pictures haven't done this girl any justice; Gwyneth is stunning.

"My moms are in the kitchen..." She says, leading us through the house. It's similar to ours, though maybe a little newer. It's bright and open and meticulously decorated. There's a collection of pictures lining the hallway we're walking down, and I want to take a second to stop and look at them all, but I want to see Kerry more.

I'm engulfed in a hug the moment I step through the threshold of the kitchen. It's warm and firm. I feel soft cotton against my arms and smooth hair against my cheek.

"It's so good to see you," Kerry murmurs over my shoulder.

I hadn't realized how much I've missed her until my arms are around her. I squeeze her back, "You, too."

She hugs Luka and I hug Kim, then we step away from each other and I finally look at the two women.

Kerry looks amazing. Her hair is a soft brown, age having stripped it of its redness. Other than that, she hasn't aged a bit. Kim looks great. Still tall and still skinny. There are a few extra wrinkles around her eyes and strands of grey have in intercepted the thick blond waves. But as far as aging goes, that's about it.

They both look happy.

"You found the place alright?" Kim asks once we're settled in the kitchen.

Luka nods. "A colleague lives not far from here, so the area is familiar."

"From Tufts?" Kim asks.

Luka nods. "He's a lecturer of pathopsychology. Very intelligent man."

Andrew Kroll. Andy. He and Luka have played golf together and we've gone to his house for dinner a handful of times. I always feel a little out of place at those gatherings; I'm supposed to be the plus one, the spouse just tagging along to socialize with the other plus one spouses. In reality, though, I'm a physician just like the rest of them and would much rather discuss medical developments, shitty administration, and interesting patients than the newest movies at the box office or where everyone's next travel destination is.

Tonight, however, I'm happy to simply socialize.

"How is Joe?" Kerry asks.

A small smile forms on my face. "Great. He's finishing his residency in New Hampshire at Dartmouth-Hitchcock."

"Dartmouth?" Kim asks interestedly.

I nod.

"That's where we're dropping Gwen off next week."

"Go Big Green." Luka says.

Both women smile.

"Joe loves it up there. Something about living in the middle of the woods really appeals to him." I comment.

"He's happy, though?" Kerry asks.

I nod and know Luka is nodding, too. Joe is happy. He's always happy.

Luka asks about the twins and Henry. Maxine is working for a chemical engineering company in Maryland, Eli's fresh out of grad school and is assisting a professor at an art school in Connecticut, and Henry is teaching history at a magnet high school in New York City. They're all grown up and they're all great.

"So, Harvard..." I say to Kim, finally broaching the real cause of our dinner tonight.

She smiles instantly. "Guess we're colleagues again."

"Better not let your students hear you say that; most Harvard students would sooner cut their own hands off than admit they're on par with anyone from Boston University."

Kim laughs.

"What about you, Kerry?" Luka asks.

Last we knew, Kerry was still searching for a job - in Boston, at least part time - to keep her busy.

"I've taken up an interim position at the Brigham."

My eyebrows pique.

"Interim chief of the emergency department, specifically." Kim adds, a hint of pride in her voice.

"It's mostly administrative and the powers that be liked my experience." She shrugs.

I've never known Kerry to be modest, but maybe time has softened her a bit.

We talk and then we eat and then we talk some more. We talk a lot about the kids, what they've done, what they're doing, and where they're going. We talk about ourselves, too. Mostly about our work, naturally. As I listen to what both women have to say and the conversations the four of us are having, it hits me how easily it is to reintroduce each other into our lives. So many years of living apart, and so many years since last seeing each other, it feels like very little has changed. I guess that's what friendship is.

It's determined that we're going to start having monthly meals to makeup for lost time. I'm normally not into that sort of thing, but it's Kerry and Kim so I'm making an exception. I want to make an exception.

It's quarter past eleven when we finally call it a night.

"So I'll call you about next month?" Kerry asks.

I nod. "And I'll give Gwen's number to Joe."

Kerry and Kim both nod gratefully. "It's been so nice to see you – both of you."

Luka and Kerry hug while Kim and I do the same. Then we switch. I notice myself holding onto Kerry for a little longer than I did Kim.

"See you soon," she says over my shoulder.

I nod against her. "Soon."


	66. New Year

August 2029

"The air is so…."

"Fresh?"

"Clean?"

"Thick. It's so humid here," Kim says.

"Well, I love it." Gwen replies. I glance in the rearview mirror and see her hair in in the crosswind and eyes illuminated by the sun. "It reminds me of Minnesota."

I glance at Kim. She's sitting in the passenger seat and shrugs back at me. The girl likes what the girl likes, I suppose.

"Thomas Hall, right? It's there, to the left." My wife says suddenly, redirecting my attention to our destination.

"That's it, that's it!" Gwen says. I swear if the car's child locks weren't activated, she'd open the door and jump out as I coast down the road at a solid thirty degrees. "It's so much nicer than the pictures show."

"It's…it's nice. Yes." I say, slowing and pulling up to the curb. I put the car in park then turn it off. Then I turn around in my seat. "You ready?"

Gwen grins, nods, and opens the door.

I turn back around to get out of the car.

"You ready?" Kim asks me.

I sigh. I nod.

"248…right here." A young woman – Zoe, an RA for Thomas Hall – has brought us to the door of Gwen's room. She hands Gwen her key. "Your roommate's already here. I'll be downstairs with the other RAs for the rest of the afternoon if you need anything. Don't forget to go get your picture taken for your ID." With that, she leaves.

Gwen is about to put the key in the lock of her door when it opens suddenly and with great force.

"Oh!" A young brunette girl appears. "Uh…Gwyneth?" She asks skeptically.

My daughter nods. "Elizabeth?"

The shorter girl smiles in relief before pulling Gwen into a hug. "Come in, come in…the room is so much bigger than I thought it would be! Y'know, my brother goes to Harvard, and when we dropped him off last year…" I block out the rest of the young woman's words, getting the feeling she's the type of person who will continue to talk even if no one is listening.

After three or four trips to and from the car to unload Gwen's bags, we pause to take a breath.

"I was just about to go get my ID when you arrived! Want to come with me?" Elizabeth – or Beth, as she insists we call her – asks.

Gwen begins to nod but pauses and glances at Kim and I. She's asking for permission.

We both nod. "Go ahead – we'll start unpacking."

She thanks us and runs off with her roommate. We turn to find Elizabeth's parents. `

We make quick work of introductions. Lindsay and Kevin Ryan, a lawyer and businessman. They hale from New York City, where they work and have raised their two children. They're Upper West Side yuppies, through-and-through.

"We're dropping off our son at school next week. Harvard. Our alma matter." Kevin Ryan says, his words dripping with aloofness. "He's majoring in English, though I can't fathom why. He was a National Merit Scholar in high school. Straight 800s on his Physics, Chemistry, and Biology SATs." I wonder if this information is supposed to impress me. It doesn't.

"Do you have any other children?" Lindsay asks. "Or is Gwyneth your only one?"

I respond as I unpack Gwen's clothes and pile them on her bed. "We have three others. All older."

"And where do they go to school? If they are in school, that is."

I pause, looking up from my task to see my wife. I'm sure her perturbed expression mirrors my own.

I decide to play Lindsay and her husband's game. "Our oldest, Henry, got his B.A. from NYU and his master's from Columbia. He's a high school history teacher now. Our other son, Eli, went to California Institute of Art. His twin sister, Maxine, went to Emory and is working on her PhD at the University of Pennsylvania."

Lindsay blinks at me a few times. Then she smiles a little too sweetly. "Well, isn't that nice."

"We like to think so."

I'm smiling at Mrs. Ryan when the dorm room door opens, revealing Gwen and Elizabeth. They're smiling and laughing. At least they're getting on well.

We continue to unpack and organize, making small talk as we work. Elizabeth wants to major in economics. Why, I have no idea. She's going to be on the rowing team.

"Is that so? What seat are you?" Kim asks, much to my surprise. I didn't know she knew a thing about rowing.

"Oh, I'm too short to row. I'm a coxswain." Elizabeth says. "Do you row?"

Kim shakes her head. "Gwen's uncle did. He was six seat, I think."

"Do you play any sports, Gwen? Basketball, perhaps?" Elizabeth's father asks.

I can almost feel Kim's eyes roll.

"I run." She replies. "But not competitively. Just for me."

"You're not one for competition?" he asks. "Interesting that you've ended up here at Dartmouth, then."

I find myself tensing at his blind assumptions. I'm about to speak up for my daughter when she does so for herself.

"Oh, I love competition, Mr. Ryan, trust me. I just don't think everything has to be one."

I suppress a proud smirk.

Gwen's remark brings a cloud of silence over the room. We work in peace.

I place a dozen folded tee shirts into a dresser drawer. When I slide it closed, I glance around Gwen's side of the room. I hadn't noticed the progress we'd made before, but everything has come together; her bed is made, pictures and posters are hung on the walls, and her bags are unpacked.

"It looks great, sweetie." Kim says, putting her arm around Gwen's waist and kissing the crown of her head.

"Thanks for your help." Gwen says, hugging Kim before coming over to me. "Both of you. I couldn't have done it without you."

I hug her. "Is this our cue to leave?"

The college student shrugs, smiling nervously.

"How about we take a walk?" Kim offers gently, "We can make our way over to the car."

Gwen nods.

We say our goodbyes to the Ryan family, making shallow and meaningless plans to "have brunch sometime," grab our things, and head out of Thomas Hall.

"It really is beautiful here, isn't it?" Gwen asks as we head for the parking lot. She's making small talk, a hallmark sign of nerves.

"It is. I think you're going to love it." Kim says softly.

Gwen nods silently.

"You okay?" I ask, putting my hand on her shoulder.

The redhead nods and places her hand atop mine. She picks it up then holds it in hers own, like she's a kid again. "Are you okay?"

I chuckle at her question. "Of course we're okay. We're so excited for you."

"But you are going to miss me, right?"

"Of course we are." Kim replies.

"But not too much, right?" Gwen asks, suddenly worried. "I don't want you to be, like, sad."

I laugh again. "We're going to be sad because we'll miss you, but we're going to be so much more excited because of the fun you'll be having."

Gwen sighs, "Well then, that's…that's good. Yeah. Good."

"Are you going to miss us?" Kim asks, bumping her hip against out daughter's playfully.

Gwen rolls her eyes. "Obviously."

We've arrived in the parking lot and are standing next to the SUV.

"So…this is it, huh?" Gwen asks.

"If you want this to be it. We can walk right back to your dorm and hang out for a little while longer, if that's what you want."

"No, no. You should probably get home. I think I need to do this. Like, now."

"I think that's a good idea."

Gwen walks into my arms. I squeeze her. Tightly.

"I love you so much. You know that? And I am so proud of you." I murmur into her shoulder. I feel her nod, hold her a little while longer, and then release her so she can hug Kim.

Our eyes stayed trained on Gwen as she walks toward her dorm. When she disappears around the corner, Kim grabs my hand. I squeeze tightly. This is it.


	67. Dark

A/N: Hi, everyone. I've recently received a lot of messages asking for an update and have finally scrounged up something to post. I very much appreciate the support and attention this story has received over the years, and am so glad at least a few people are still interested in it. Unfortunately, as I have told a few of you already, I have lost a bit of interest in this story myself. I began writing it over three years ago and a lot has changed since then, not least of all my skills, goals, and interests as a writer. That said, I still love FanFiction, ER and its characters, and the characters I've created here. In trying to figure out what I'm going to do about this story, I've decided on a compromise: I will not be finishing all 100 chapters of this story, which is what I originally set out to do. I do wish I'd been able to fulfill that goal, but it's just not an option any more. I will, however, give it what I think is a respectable conclusion. I will only be working on this story for four more weeks, at which point I will be retuning to college and officially leaving this story behind. So, this chapters represents the beginning of the end (kudos to you if you get the reference). Thanks for sticking around! I'm looking forward to finishing this journey with you all.

A/N 2: Logistically, I want to point out that I'm going to be a lot more slack about continuity from here on out. For instance, I realize that the years and dates are slightly off, and that I may have said in one chapter that a character is doing one thing before contradicting myself later on. I used to pay close attention to little details like that, making Excel spreadsheets and word documents galore, but that's no longer my concern. Right now, I'm focusing purely on finishing this story in the best way possible. So I'll say this chapter takes place in September, and you all can conclude that I mean it is one month after the previous chapter. Okay? Okay.

Onward.

* * *

><p>September<p>

I'm walking in the opposite direction of the office when the phone rings. For a split second I consider letting it go to the machine – I really need to check on the pie that's cooking in the oven - but turn back around and answer it anyway; I'll let a call go to voicemail one day.

"Hello?"

"Have you gone on Facebook lately?"

"Hi, Maxine. It's so very nice to hear from you! I'm well – how are you?" I respond quickly, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm serious, Mom – go on Facebook and look at your youngest daughter's profile. The pictures, particularly."

I sigh. I hate Facebook. I hate that I am on Facebook, I hate that Kim is on Facebook, and I hate that all four of my children are on Facebook. While I'm by no means a social butterfly, I far prefer picking up a phone or composing an email to essentially spying through a computer screen. But alas, few others seem to agree with me. So I sit down at my desk and open my laptop.

"What am I looking for?" I ask as the page loads. As soon as it does, I groan. "Oh, my."

"Yeah."

"What is she...is that? Oh, my."

"Yeah."

My eyes are glued to the screen as I scroll through my youngest daughter's photos. They seem to have been taken on a single night – in every one, she's wearing a pair of short, ratty denim shorts, a black tank top shirt that's short enough to show her stomach, and simple leather sandals. Her face is flushed bright red and glistens with sweat. Surrounded by other young people in a small, dark room, she's clearly drinking. I can see her level of inebriation increase as I click through the pictures.

"Which picture are you on?" Maxine asks.

I stare at it for a few seconds, trying to figure it out. "Uh…she's standing next to a taller guy, with black hair and a green –"

"— Just tell me the number, Mom." Max says.

Oh, right. "Seventy-eight."

"Go to 112." I click through the photos quickly, and then come to a full stop at photo 112. Oh, my. "Find it?"

"Oh, my."

"Yeah."

"She's kissing a woman."

"Apparently." Max says, "Now go to 121."

My eyebrows are furrowed as I scroll through the photos, but I can feel them jump high on my forehead when I reach the photo in question. "Oh, _my_."

"Yeah."

"Now, that is _not_ a woman." I state obviously.

"No, it's not, but that's not what I'm most worried about." Max states. "She is clearly very, very intoxicated."

I sigh. "Clearly." As far as we know, Gwen was never much of a drinker during high school. None of our children were, except perhaps Eli when he had the chance. And even then, he only came home drunk once or twice, and each time he was punished appropriately. However, Kim and I both acknowledge with resignation that our kids have probably done far more than we are, or want to be, aware of. And because of that, we're hardly unnerved at the prospect of it. We worry, of course, but we've essentially lost the ability to panic. Three adult children will do that to a couple.

"I thought I'd let you know, and offer to talk to her if you want." She says, "I mean, you've always been great at scaring us into sobriety with stories of drunk drivers and gastric lavages, and Mom has some pretty serious stories about alcoholics she's treated, but it's been a long time since either of you were college freshmen."

"Thank you, Max, but I think your Mom and I can handle this." I say pointedly. Maxine has been protective of Gwen for years, sometimes behaving more as a third mother than an older sister. While it's sometimes appropriate, and sometimes even welcomed, it can also be pretty damn annoying. "We put you and your brothers through the ringer after your first forays into drunken foolishness, and I think Gwen deserves the same treatment. I'll talk with your Mom and we'll call her tonight or tomorrow."

"Oh-kay." Max says, voicing her disproval of my plan. "Is Mom around right now?"

"She's at the office."

"It's Saturday morning."

"She's presenting to the board on Monday. She's preparing."

"Okay. Well, good luck with Gwen. Let me know how it goes, please."

I sigh but agree, realizing she's only trying to help. "I will. I should go now, though, Max. I've got a pie in the oven that I need to take out."

"Good idea," she says easily. "Talk to you later, Mom. Love you."

"I love you, too." I say, smiling. "Oh, and Maxine? Thank you. You're a good sister."

"You're welcome. Bye, Mom."

I press end only after she's disconnected the call herself, put the phone down, and direct my focus back on the computer screen. Photo after photo show a team of intoxicated young adults, and Gwen is in about half of them. She's smiling, yes, but there's a cloudy, dazed look in her green eyes that ties my stomach into knots; this is not the daughter Kim and I dropped off at Dartmouth last month.

I close the laptop with a sigh and leave the office, compartmentalizing my worries about my youngest daughter and getting back to work. I'll do something about what Max has just showed me – I'll talk to Kim, then we'll talk to our daughter – but there's nothing I can do now.


	68. Weeks

November 11th

"Hey! Give that back!" I whine, reaching out to grab the book Kim has extracted from my hand. She smiles deviously as she folds the page's corner over and sets it down on her bedside table.

"You've read it five times, Ker…" she reminds me with a chuckle, moving to kneel on the bed with her legs on either side of mine. "Besides, Gwen will be home this weekend. Until then there are no time restraints, no noise restraints…"

Her hands move slowly towards the buttons of my satin nightshirt. I'm exhausted and feel just on the better side of 'like crap', but there's no way I can resist the feel of her delicate hands. It's impossible to say no to those eyes, anyway. I arch my back and tilt my chin up until our mouths meet.

We continue like this for a while longer, Kim making agonizingly slow work of my clothes as I trace old love stories on the inside of her mouth with a gentle tongue. I'm getting antsy, though, and she doesn't do anything about it besides forge on with the slow, tantalizing foreplay. When I try to reach my hand down into the gap our bodies create, she grabs it and holds it firmly to the mattress.

I groan in discontent. She smiles against my mouth.

I feel so young, so alive. Her careful work and loving touch has rid my body of all discomfort and fatigue. I never want this to end.

She smiles darkly but finally obliges, leaning back onto her haunches and pulling off my pants. I take the opportunity to pounce—I want to please her just as much as I want to be pleased. Why not kill two birds with one stone? I deftly roll onto my knees so we're both kneeling on our queen-sized mattress. She looks like she's about to argue at first but allows me to pull her oversized tee shirt over her head anyway. When I move to pull her underwear down, she grasps the small of my back and pulls me close. What should be an erotic sensation is replaced by a piercing pain and sharp gasp as she grabs a mysteriously tender spot on my thigh.

"Kerry? Are you okay?" Kim questions, backing away slightly.

I'm confused, dazed. The intense shock of pain has settled into a dull throb. I shrug.

"Is it your hip?" She asks before glancing down to the location of her hands. "Jesus, Ker…have you seen this?"

I have no idea what she's talking about and look downwards.

"There's a bruise on your back. A big one." She explains as her fingers gently probe the area. I inhale sharply when she finds a particularly tender spot, and she drops her hands. After a moment, she rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom. "C'mon…"

I follow her to the full-length mirror, then stand with my back towards it and head craned over my shoulder. Glancing downward, I'm startled to see the huge, raspberry colored bruise in the center of the small of my back. I comb through my memory for anything that could have caused such a huge contusion but come up empty handed. I have no idea where this mark came from.

"Do you have any other symptoms? Any other pain?" Kim questions.

I shake my head again. I can't remember any trauma, there have been no changes in urination, nothing is swollen. I'm tired, yes, and my joints ache, but those are symptoms of my age, occupation, and decades spent walking unevenly. This is exactly what I tell her.

"You're sure?" Kim's long fingers trail over the mark again, tracing its outline.

"I'll bet I just backed into something at work," I reassure her. "I'm fine."

She doesn't look convinced but doesn't push the topic any further. "Do you want me to get some ice?"

I shake my head, grab her hand, and lead her back to bed. This discovery has sufficiently ruined the mood, and I know she'll be too concerned to have sex tonight, but I pull her close to me anyway. I soon drift off into sleep, only dimly aware of the dull ache in my back.

* * *

><p>November 14th<p>

I push the front door open to let Gwen and her girlfriend in first before following behind. Soon after we confronted her about the questionable Facebook photos, Gwen told us about Annie. They met mere hours after we dropped her off in August, began dating in mid-September, and have been together ever since. The two girls are visiting for a long weekend, and we've just arrived home from New Hampshire. Kerry and I were supposed to make the trip together, but she wasn't feeling up to it this morning.

"We're home!"

Silence.

"With pizza!" Gwen adds, carrying the large box towards the kitchen. The girls' duffel bags and dirty laundry are still in the car; they're home for a week and I figure we have plenty of time to take care of it all.

Silence.

I direct the girls to go ahead and put our dinner on the counter while I go find Kerry. Naively, they don't sense my mounting concern.

Kerry's been out of it for the past couple of days; going to bed right after dinner, sleeping through her alarm, acting as if she's in a constant daze. Completely unlike her normal self. If it were anyone else I wouldn't be too alarmed, but this is Kerry, and Kerry doesn't just act differently. Not when she's tired, not when she has a cold or even the flu, not when she's had a bad day at work. Putting up a good, strong façade is a central part of her personality.

I find her curled into a loose fetal position, her faded, sandy-colored hair spread across the crisp white pillowcase. One weathered hand loosely clutches the throw that normally lies at the foot of our bed while her other is tucked under her head. A book and her reading glasses sit together, untouched, on my side of the bed. Her breathing is nasally and her cheeks are colorless.

I creep quietly across the room to pick up the book and glasses before adjusting her blanket and kissing her forehead. The light sleeper hardly stirs and the knots in my stomach tie a little tighter.

I rejoin Gwen and Annie downstairs and grab my own slice. When Gwen asks where Mom is and says she wants her to meet Annie, I tell her that she's napping. Gwen, unaware of my concerns, lets the excuse slide.

* * *

><p>November 15th<p>

"378! Ha!" Gwen exclaims over the scrabble board, grinning victoriously at me and Annie.

"You're so competitive," Annie quips with a gentle smile.

"Nice job," I say to both girls, standing up and stretching my arms out in front of me. "But if you beat me one more time we're sending you back to New Hampshire immediately."

Gwen rolls her eyes with a grin. She stands, too, and heads for the kitchen. Annie and I follow. "What, and leave Annie here with you? I don't think so."

Annie shrugs, "I can think of worse things."

"That's not very nice," Gwen scoffs, pretending to be offended and nudging the other girl with her elbow. "It's not my fault I'm a ridiculously good scrabble player with an enormous, versatile vocabulary."

We're all smiling when we enter the kitchen, where Kerry has been baking cookies to send back to school with the girls.

"Is the first batch cool enough yet?" I ask, peaking at the full rack of sugar cookies.

Kerry, who's standing with her back to us at the sink, shakes her head.

"Are you just saying that so we don't eat them all?" I ask playfully, stepping forward and putting my arms around her waist. "One each won't hurt, will it?"

She flinches immediately. Despite her attempt to shield her face from my sight, I'm startled to see the blood-soaked cloth she's holding to her nose. "Kerry!" I exclaim.

"I'm fine…" she says, her voice muffled and distorted, "It's just the dry air."

I raise my eyebrow skeptically.

"What's wrong?" Gwen asks, stepping forward so she's standing next to me. When she sees the blood stained rag, she gasps. "Mom..."

"It's okay." Kerry reassures both Gwen and Annie.

"Give us a few minutes, girls. Please," I say. Gwen opens her mouth to argue, but closes it when I give her a sharp look. She takes Annie's hand and leads her back to the living room. When they're gone, I direct Kerry to sit on a nearby stool, grab a fresh towel from the drawer, and drop the saturated one in the sink. "Tilt forward and pinch."

"I know."

"Then do it."

I make quick work of rinsing out the cloth in the sink and cleaning the surrounding area, where tiny droplets of blood freckle the granite, before going back to Kerry's side. "Still bleeding?"

"It's slowing down I think…"

"Remember when Eli ran into that wall? In Oak Park? I'm pretty sure his nose bled for an hour…" I try to lighten the mood with the faded memory.

"It was no more than ten minutes."

"It sure felt like an hour. I think we went through an entire roll of paper towel before it stopped."

She chuckles at my dramatization. "The other night I soaked a hand towel in—"

She stops short when she sees the look on my face.

"What was that?"

"It's just the dry weather, Kim."

"Then why wouldn't you tell me?"

She sighs in annoyance and doesn't answer. Instead, she pulls the cloth away from her nose and nods in satisfaction when she sees that there's no longer a steady flow of blood. She climbs off the stool, grabs the two dirtied rags, and heads towards the laundry room. "Can you check the cookies that are in the oven? They should be done soon…" she says over her shoulder.

I stand where I am for a few long moments after she's gone. A heaviness deep in my stomach tells me that something – I'm not quite sure what – is wrong.

* * *

><p>November 20th<p>

The noises of the overcrowded ER blend into one, creating a loud whirring sound in my ear. The pounding in my head makes it almost impossible to tell who is saying what, and I can only manage to stare at the med student who's presenting to me.

"So I should just try to get him a spot in psych, right?" I'm able to catch those words but have to shake my head apologetically.

"I'm sorry…um, could you…" I glance around, spotting Grace Ryan, a young but skilled attending. "Could you present to Dr. Ryan? I have to…"

I leave the confused-looking med student and make a B-line for the lounge. I'm relieved to find it empty, and take the opportunity to sit on the couch and close my eyes.

I'm not sure how much time has passed when the door swings open. "Dr. Weaver? There's a double trauma coming in and Dr. Sharma is on seven checking on a patient."

I rise with my eyes half shut, but find the floor being pulled out from under me once I'm upright.

"Whoa there," the new arrival says, stepping forward to help.

I hold out my hand in the universal signal for 'back off' and compose myself. When the floor is back where it belongs, I open my eyes and find Kevin, the charge nurse. "Page Dr. Sharma and tell her to get back down here…we're going to need all hands on deck." I say, throwing myself into work mode and pushing my decreased equilibrium, rising temperature, pounding head, and aching body to the back of my mind.

A chill wracks my body as I try to intubate the patient. My hands are damp with sweat and if I wasn't wearing gloves the laryngoscope would be slipping clear from them, hitting the patient in the face.

"Kerry?" Sharma says, her tone slightly impatient and sounding as if she's already tried to get my attention.

I can't focus. Why are these monitors so loud?

"Hm?" I ask, not trusting myself not to stumble over my words.

She looks at me with concern. "I asked if you needed a hand…you're—you're shaking."

I glance down at my own hands, surprised to find that she's right.

"I'm fine…" I say.

I focus on steadying myself. Deep breath. In, out.

"Stats are dropping…" Kevin says.

Let's go, Kerry. Come on. Get it together.

"Kerry? We need to open his airway…" Sharma speaks again.

Goddamnit. I can't do this. I need to do this, but I can't. Goddamnit.

I hand her the scope and take an uncoordinated step to the side. The room spins for a moment and all sounds distort violently. I think for a millisecond that this might be how things sound to Eli, but then a truly deafening silence overwhelms me, everything becomes black, and I can no longer think of anything at all.

* * *

><p>November 21st<p>

"Hey, sleepyhead…" I say softly when Kerry's eyelids flicker open.

She shies away from the fluorescent light. "Wha—why?" She squints at her hospital gown and IV. "What happened?"

I smile comfortingly and trace a small pattern on her hand. "You passed out during your shift late last night. It's Saturday morning," I pause, waiting until an expression of understanding settles on her face. When she gives a small nod, I motion toward the IV in her hand and continue, "you were dehydrated and running a pretty high fever."

"Has my blood work come back?" She asks.

I nod slowly, my stomach curdling with anxiety and fear. It came back about an ago. I haven't seen the results personally, but from the look on Dr. Sharma's face, I know they're not good. I know my intuition is right. The nosebleeds, the easy bruising, the constant fatigue and general malaise…it's not coincidental. I wish it were, but who am I fooling? Who is she fooling?

"I'll get Dr. Sharma…" I say, beginning to stand up.

Kerry rolls her eyes and holds out her hand, flexing and extending her fingers expectantly. I sigh. I can't say no. I'm not even sure if I want to say no.

I relent with a nod and reach for the bag of her clothes that is stuffed beneath the hospital bed. I extract her touchscreen, hospital-issued tablet and hand it to her. She punches in her password deftly then scrolls silently. Her eyes start moving left to right and back again. When the stop, I can tell she's found her file. After a moment she places the electronic file on her lap, without turning it off.

Please, God…

"Kerry…" I say almost inaudibly.

She shakes her head, not making eye contact.

I take a deep breath and pick the tablet up. My eyes scan through all of the information I already know – her name, age, date of birth, primary care physician, social security number, insurance plan, blood type, all of it. Finally, I find the results.

Please…

Decreased normal red blood cells.

Decreased normal white blood cells.

Increased overall white blood cell count.

Decreased platelet levels.

Decreased hemoglobin.

…No.

After a while—a minute, or maybe an hour—I look at Kerry. Her eyes are glossy with tears that I know will not yet fall and for the first time I see just how unhealthy she is: she's pale and there are dark circles beneath her sunken eyes; she's exhausted; she's sick.

"Nothing's certain until you're seen by an oncologist, have a bone marrow biopsy..." I say, though we both know what a blood panel like this indicates.

We sit together for a long time, not exchanging any words. Right now, I just want to be with her.

"You knew, didn't you?" I ask quietly after a while. My hand is still holding hers, and I feel as if I never want to let go.

"I had a feeling."

I nod understandingly.

"And I think you did, too."


	69. Sadness

Gwen  
>Thursday Morning<p>

Gwen sits in the recliner across from her mothers, waiting. Both women are sitting on the leather loveseat with their hands knotted together and eyebrows furrowed. She has a fleeting thought that they look like two kids awaiting punishment, but the worry and tension in the room pushes away any amusement that idea elicits. She has no idea what's happening; after arriving home for the holidays late last night, she was directed to the living room couch first thing this morning.

"Have I done something wrong?" She asks suddenly.

Both women shake their heads immediately.

"No, no, not at all," Kim assures her. "There's just something we need to talk to you about, and we didn't want to put it off."

Gwen nods, and her mothers exchange glances.

"One night at work last week, I felt a little off at work. I ended up staying overnight and having a whole slew of tests done. The next morning, we found—" Kerry's voice had been strong and steady until that point. "We found out that I have acute myeloid leukemia. Cancer. Of the blood."

Tears begin falling immediately. Her eyes and throat burn, and her face feels hot. A strangled sob escapes before she can stop it.

"Oh, sweetie…" Kerry says, rising from her seat to join Gwen on the couch. She wraps an arm around her daughter and embraces her as she leans in. Kim, too, rises from her seat to join the other two. She takes a seat on the coffee table and silently takes Gwen's hand.

The eighteen year old cries for a while, held in the arms of her mothers. The tears and sobs are steady at first, but the both eventually begin to slow. When they're reduced to just a few stray tears and a couple hiccups, the conversation resumes.

"You…you have cancer?" She asks.

Kerry nods, still holding her daughter close.

"How bad is it?"

"It's hard to say. There is no real staging system for AML. Blood tests show that there aren't enough healthy cells in my blood, but there aren't so few..." Kerry pauses to gather her thoughts, "I have very few healthy blood cells, but I could have a lot less. Some people who are diagnosed with AML do have a lot less, and they're sicker than I am. It could be worse."

"But you need to be treated?"

Kerry nods again. "I'm starting chemotherapy on Monday. It's intensive, so I'll be there every day for a few hours all week."

Gwen frowns. Thanksgiving is next week, all of her siblings and their significant others are coming to Boston, but she doesn't bring it up. She doesn't have to point out that her mother will probably be sick and in the hospital for most of it. "Does everyone else know already?"

"Aside from your mom's team of doctors and nurses, you're the third person to know." Kim informs her daughter, squeezing her hand. "We're going to tell everyone as they arrive for the holidays."

"Okay."

"Do you have any more questions?" Kim asks softly.

There are so many questions and thoughts and words coursing through Gwen's head, but she can't grasp a single one to verbalize. Images of hospital rooms and syringes and doctors in white coats flash before her eyes. Will she lose her hair? Will the chemotherapy make her sick? What's her prognosis? Is she going to die? Unable to pick just one, she shakes her head.

"Well, if you think of a question or just want to talk about it, let us know." Kim says, "We know it's hard, but we want to make this as easy as possible. We don't want you to be scared."

"Okay," Gwen says, because there's nothing else to say. "Can I, uh, go upstairs? To take a shower? I think I need some time. To think."

"Of course." Kim says. Kerry nods in agreement.

Before rising from the couch, Gwen puts her arms around her mom once more. She inhales slowly, taking in the distinct, familiar scent. The tears begin to fall again, but she doesn't try to stop them.

"I love you, Mom. So much."


	70. Detachment

Eli  
>Thursday Night<p>

Eli's body feels numb as he walks from the living room to his bedroom. He feels lost, empty, far-away.

He's sensed something's wrong since he and Meg arrived from Connecticut early this afternoon. It's the week before Thanksgiving and the entire family is coming to Boston to celebrate. He anticipated happiness, excitement, and warmth to be radiating out the windows; it usually does around this time of year. Instead, he found a heavy cloud of solemnness looming over the townhouse. Everyone under it seemed to be affected. He's been worried ever since.

At last, he was asked to join his parents in the living room after dinner.

Neither woman had bothered to look up the signs for all of the medical terms they had to use. It would've been useless – Eli's never needed to know the signs for leukemia, chemotherapy, or hemoglobin, so he wouldn't understand the signs even if they had looked them up. Reading their lips was nearly as fruitless, with the Latin roots and endless syllables streaming together incoherently as they spoke, but with a little bit of fingerspelling, a pad of paper, and a pen, they made do.

Cancer. His mom has cancer.

When they asked if he had any questions, he nodded.

His hands shook as he held them out in front of his chest, one palm up and the other down. With his eyebrows raised in question, he flipped his hands over, so each palm was facing a new direction.

_Are you dying?_

The tips of Kerry's fingers touched her temple then turned away.

_I don't know._

That's what has Eli feeling so shocked. So lifeless. The two women who have always seemed to have the answer to everyone else's questions are without one when it matters most.

Back in his bedroom, he climbs into bed next to Meghan and lets her hold him until he falls asleep.


	71. Fear

Max  
>Friday Afternoon<p>

"Max, you need to calm down." Kim says, moving to sit next to her eldest daughter. The young woman is hyperventilating, her chest heaving as hot tears run down her face. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow."

Max tries to do as she's told, tries recalling the many calming techniques she's acquired over the years. She tries, but it's hard; she can't stop crying and her heart won't stop racing.

Unnoticed, Kerry slips out of the home office. Neither Max nor Kim takes note of her absence until she's returned. Her hand is extended, in it a small white tablet.

"Xanax. 0.25 milligrams." Kerry says, placing it in Max's hand and folding her daughter's long, thin fingers around it. "It's sublingual, so it'll dissolve under your tongue."

With a shaking hand, Max puts it in her mouth. Her eyes stay closed until her heart rate has slowed and her breathing has regulated. Then, she opens them, reentering reality and registering the concerned faces of her mothers.

"Okay?" Kim asks softly, her hand rubbing small circles on her daughter's back.

Max nods. It's been so long since her last panic attack she'd almost forgotten what it feels like.

"Is the Xanax yours?" She asks Kerry quietly.

The older woman nods affirmatively but doesn't explain. After her own reaction, Maxine should understand why her mother needs it. Pre-existing anxiety or not, cancer is scary.

"Are you ready to keep talking? Or do you need some time?" Kim asks patiently.

Max takes another deep breath, demanding her mind to remain calm. "I want to keep going."

Both women nod and Kerry begins to speak, her voice soft and calm. "I'm starting treatment on Monday morning. I'll be at the hospital every day until Friday. It's hard to know how it'll go or how I'll feel; everyone's affected differently. But that's the first step. Then, I'll have another bone marrow biopsy to see if it worked. Where we go from there depends on what we find."

"Do they think it'll work?" Max asks cautiously, not entirely sure she wants to hear the answer herself.

It's quiet for a long moment as Kerry considers her answer. Kim, too, struggles to figure out what should be said.

"Some of the best oncologists in the country think that this is the best shot I've got." Kerry says firmly. She can't say that her doctors think it'll work, because no one has explicitly said so. Does everyone want it to work? Yes. But that doesn't mean it will, and she can't risk giving her children false hope.

Maxine notices her mother's careful wording but doesn't call her out on the vagueness.

"And if it doesn't?" The younger woman asks.

Kerry's gaze drops, her hand reaching for Kim's. That same question has been at the forefront of her mind for days. What if it doesn't work? What if nothing works? What if this is it?

"Then we try again." Kim interjects with a quiet strength and a firm nod. "We try again and we don't give up."

All three women know that trying is finite. No one can attempt the same thing over and over again, failing every time, forever. It always comes down to two things: success and failure. At some point, something's got to give.

They all know this, but no one says it out loud.


	72. Anger

Henry  
>Saturday Night<p>

"Tell me the truth," Henry demands with his eyes locked on his mother's. Unlike his siblings, who have responded with sadness and despondence and fear, he's responding with anger.

Kerry sighs. She should theoretically be grateful that they're having this conversation with Henry last, but all the practice in the world wouldn't be enough to prepare her for this.

"We're telling you everything we know, Henry." Kim insists calmly.

"Well, it's not enough! And why am I the last to know? You tell the 19-year-old college freshman before you tell me? Come on! I'm 27 years old. I'm an adult." Henry exclaims, each word hurtling towards his mothers violently.

Having held onto her patience thus far, Henry's last comment makes Kerry snap.

"The only reason you're the last to know is because you're the last to get here. If you'd been home before Gwen, you'd have known before Gwen. We are telling you everything we know. And you know what? I agree that it isn't enough. I want to know more, too. How do you think I feel? Not only is my own body trying to kill me, but I don't even know if it's actually going to succeed. And if it does, I certainly don't know when or how! Will the cancer kill me before the chemo? Am I going to be here next Thanksgiving? Will I be at your wedding? Am I going to see Gwen graduate? Will I meet my grandkids? We don't have the all of the answers, Henry! I'm sorry if that upsets you, but that's the way that it is."

An array of emotions flit across Henry's face; he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his mother explode like this during his 27 years of life.

"We're all scared," Kim rejoins the conversation, hoping to lessen the tension between mother and son, "but getting angry isn't going to make it easier. We need to trust each other and be there for one another so we can all be there for your mom."

Kerry speaks again, her voice many decibels quieter, "Believe me, Henry, I wish I had more information. But you can be sure that we'll tell you everything we know, when we know it."

Henry raises his hand and scrubs it over his face with a loud, frustrated sigh. When he looks up, Kerry can see the sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom."

Kerry gives a week, sorrowful smile and places her hand on the back of Henry's head. "Me, too."

Both mother and son know that the other is sorry for much more than what has just transpired.


	73. Love

Kim & Kerry  
>Sunday Night<p>

Kim's long fingers trace paths down her wife's bare arm, leaving goose bumps and raised hairs in their wake. The skin is smooth and soft, satiny to the touch. She moves gently, her touch light and her breathing slow.

The scents of lust and soap fill the room in a strangely domestic but familiar mix, and their naked bodies press together like two pages of a book. They may as well be melded together. They're one.

The two women have spent the evening with their family, revisiting old memories and looking ahead to the future. Photo albums covered every surface of the living room, home videos played on the television, and family stories were shared on a loop. The night was filled with laughter, with tears only falling when it was time to say 'goodnight.'

Tomorrow, everyone knows, marks the entrance into the unknown.

"How did we end up here?" Kerry asks in the darkness. Her voice is nearly inaudible, and it's a struggle to hear her words even in the silence of the night.

Kim doesn't have an answer; she has the same question.

Twenty-two years feels like an eternity. They've raised four happy, healthy children; they've navigated professional issues and personal struggles; they've dealt with loss and gain, hurt and excitement; they've built a life together. A rich, full, beautiful life. Kim knows the success of their relationship should encourage her, should give her hope; if two female physicians can defeat all odds to raise four children in a blended family, then they can deal with anything, right? But this thought provides her with no solace; nothing could have prepared them for this.

She doesn't answer Kerry with words, but instead brushes her fingers down the woman's arm until their hands are entwined. She tightens her grip briefly, a sign of support, and places a kiss on the pale shoulder before her.

"I love you so much," she says quietly.

She can feel Kerry's head nod against her chest; she doesn't trust herself to speak without breaking down into tears.

"I always will, Kerry. Always."

* * *

><p><em>The End<em>


End file.
